


Seize the Oppa-rtunity

by MyHeartIsOhMyGod



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: #loveYUsoMARK, (Obviously), Canon-Compliant, Cuddling, Dude it's OBVIOUSLY Yuta, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, M/M, Oppa Kink, Pepero Game, Skinship, Slow Burn, Tucking Markie into bed, Who is my oppa?, Yuta-oppa takes good care of him, cute kisses, like really soft, seriously this is the softest shit I've ever written, soft, tbh everything I write is slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyHeartIsOhMyGod/pseuds/MyHeartIsOhMyGod
Summary: Any time Yuta walks into a room he announces, “Have no fear, your oppa is here!” It’s somehow still funny to the members even though they've heard it hundreds of times. But there’s an extra layer of meaning when Yuta catches Mark’s eyes, an extra laugh they share just with each other.Their inside joke that feels like something more.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 61
Kudos: 448





	Seize the Oppa-rtunity

**Author's Note:**

> **Nov 9th, 2020; 11:40am**
> 
> So I decided to write something to celebrate Yuta’s birthday… but by the time this decision was made, it was October 26th, at 9pm, with only 3 hours left to the day. Yikes. But I told myself, “No worries! It’ll be short and sweet, around 1000k words, nothing fancy. We’ll get it done in no time!”
> 
>  _Behold this 20k monstrosity,_ because I’m a dumbass who gets carried away with everything I do.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the softest shit I've ever written in my life, and the fruits of my suffering. ♥

The first time he hears it is during their first fansign as a rookie group.

Yuta points to himself, eyes wide and confused. “Oppa?” he repeats.

The fan nods, tucks her black hair behind her ear and giggles. “Is that okay? If I call you that?”

“Oh.” Yuta blinks, then slowly nods. “Okay.”

It’s not something he’s used to. Yes, he knows what it means, he’s been in Korea long enough to hear girls squeal the word at his sunbaes – but it’s the first time someone has actually come up to Yuta, looked him in the eyes, and called him ‘ _oppa’_.

…It feels a little silly, to be honest. There’s something humorous about how Yuta doesn’t even know the girl, but she calls him ‘big brother’ like they’ve grown up together all their lives. Korea is _weird_.

Even so, Yuta breaks into a wide grin and laughs. As strange as it may sound, the fan’s nickname fills Yuta with an odd glow of pride. It takes the fan a moment to recover from her blush, but then she laughs too, even if she doesn’t understand the joke – she’s happy enough just to witness his smile. _Yuta’s_ smile. Yuta from _NCT 127’s_ smile. Because that’s who Yuta is now, no longer just a backup dancer. It all feels surreal.

When the event is over, when all the pens are recapped and the chairs are put away and the flashy clothes are discarded, the boys sit in the dressing room and bask in the afterglow. They’re mostly quiet but there’s a weird energy that connects them. Little smiles and pink cheeks and sparkles in their eyes that don’t need words, meeting each other’s gazes with little giggles, all seven of them riding the same blissful wavelength.

“So…” Yuta breaks the tension. He grins mischievously. “I have a new nickname now. Some of the fans call me _oppa_.”

It’s really not that funny. But they’re so high on the excitement that they all burst out laughing, too loud, but together. Taeyong is folded in two, the tears in his eyes contrasting his aggressively white hair. Mark, as he always does, smacks his hand against whoever’s body is nearest, which unfortunately happens to be Winwin this time (he unsubtly tries to move out of Mark’s reach). Donghyuck – no, wait, _Haechan_ – doesn’t even hear them. The boy stares up at the ceiling light, mouth parted, mind lost within the stars… and Yuta understands exactly what he’s feeling. Lately, the future they’ve dreamed of since trainee days – the spotlights that shine as bright as their ambitions – feels like it’s within their reaches. Over the last few weeks, the seven of them finally got to taste it; and from now on Yuta will never feel too full.

He turns away from the youngest boy and stands to face the group. “From now on,” Yuta orders, pulling his necklace over his head, “I am no longer your _hyung_ ; you shall refer to me as your _oppa_. Understand?”

It’s not that funny, but right now _everything_ is funny, so they all explode in laughter. “That doesn’t make sense!” Taeyong tries to say, muffled through his high-pitched laughs, but Yuta ignores him.

“Jaehyun-ah,” Yuta turns to him. The younger boy’s cheeks are apple-like with the stretch of his dimples. “What do you call me?”

With a low chuckle, Jaehyun leans forward and raises his voice by an octave. “What did you say, _Yuta-oppa?_ ” The laughter returns two-fold.

Really, it’s not that funny; but it’s funny in the moment. And then every reiteration brings the seven of them back to that moment, back to that hazy satisfaction of finally meaning something in the world… and the humor becomes tinged with a nostalgia that makes them smile no matter how often they hear it. So it becomes a running gag.

When he’s the last one to the practice room he yells, “Oppa is here now!” and they laugh.

When they’re asked to give introductions, Yuta tells the camera, “I’m Yuta, but you can call me oppa,” and everyone thinks it’s _hilarious_.

Taeyong asks him to do an acrostic poem using ‘Osaka’ and adds, “Don’t say ‘Oppa is here’,” just as Yuta starts with “Opp-” And it’s hilarious, they all fall over with the impact of his humour and Yuta watches fondly.

Yuta likes making his members laugh. He likes making the fans laugh. And, he won’t lie, part of him is starting to like the honorific too. He likes being called a ‘big brother’, it makes him feel kind of manly. He likes the endearment that the title carries, even if a small part of him still cringes.

He’s not the only foreigner who sees its humour.

They pause their dance practice for a break, and when Mark calls him over, Yuta sits next to him. “Your oppa has arrived,” Yuta smirks, and Mark barks a laugh.

“ _Yooo_ , stop saying that!” Yuta can’t even see Mark’s eyes behind his cringe.

Of all seven of them, Mark is the one who gets the most flustered from the strange multi-contextual honorific. (Although, to be fair, Mark is the one who gets the most flustered about _anything_.) “Don’t you think it’s…” Mark scrunches his nose. “Doesn’t it feel, like, weird? To you?”

Yuta smiles at him. Because as a fellow foreigner, Mark understands the confusion that the Korean members (who’ve grown up hearing the word all their lives) shrug off. “Yeah, for sure.”

“It’s like…” Mark looks up into space and smiles in disbelief. “Yo, I don’t even _have_ a sister. So it’s just _weird_.”

“You don’t like it?” Yuta asks.

Mark’s brows pull together, cheeks growing a little pink as he laughs awkwardly. “It’s just… It’s just… It’s just _weird_.”

Yuta chuckles. “Yeah, I know.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “If you really think about it, it’s borderline incestuous, isn’t it?”

“Oh god Yuta _NO-_ ”

And so any time Yuta walks into a room he announces, “Have no fear, your oppa is here!” It’s somehow still funny to the members and now even the staff smile at its familiarity. But there’s an extra layer of meaning when Yuta catches Mark’s eyes, an extra laugh they share just with each other.

It becomes a thing that they do.

When Yuta pries himself out of bed and into the kitchen, Mark greets him with “Good morning oppa!” It’s so unexpected that Yuta spits as he laughs.

Taeil gives them a weird look over his shoulder, but it’s short-lived because Jaehyun (who doesn’t even flinch) interrupts to ask him how he should cut the carrots. And so they continue as normal, Yuta pausing to ruffle Mark’s hair as he passes.

Mark doesn’t say it all the time, he only uses the silly nickname when he’s feeling especially cheerful, but it’s enough that Taeyong stops them one night. His dark eyes are round with worry, head bowed down seriously as he looks from one to another. “Do you two know what that means?” he asks gently, almost whispering even though they’re the only ones in the room. (Taeyong always talks like that if he’s correcting a foreign member’s mistake, like he doesn’t want to embarrass them.)

Mark and Yuta look at each other and try to suppress their smiles, like they’ve been caught doing something mischievous. “Yeah, it’s all good, hyung,” Mark says. “It’s just an inside joke.”

Taeyong’s eyes switch to Yuta, and the Japanese man chuckles. “You wouldn’t get it.”

There’s some obvious hesitation in their leader’s expression, mouth opening and closing as he searches for the right words. “It’s just… it’s…” He bites his lip. “It’s not really something that boys call each other. The public might say things that, um…”

Yuta pats his arm. “He only says it in the dorms. Don’t worry so much.”

Taeyong gives him a weak smile in return because, well, it’s his job to worry, especially with two new members moving in.

The warning must have left an impact though, because Mark stops saying it as often. But then again, he spends more of his time with Johnny, so maybe that’s why. Which is fine, because Yuta spends most of his time with Winwin anyway. Until he doesn’t. Until he _can’t_.

Yuta and Mark never drifted apart, not really. But Mark must sense Yuta’s grief (although Yuta wasn’t subtle with his moping anyway). So when they take a break during practice and Yuta is sitting by himself, scrolling on his phone, Mark suddenly drops down beside him.

Feigning casualty he asks, “What are you doing… _oppa?_ ” Then he looks up at Yuta with a silly grin, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes, waiting to see whether Yuta will cheer up. There’s something about Mark – maybe the optimistic sparkle around his pupils – that makes it impossible not to smile back. Because… well, it’s funny, really. Even if it’s only funny for them.

So it goes back to being a thing that they do, a special humor that they share. Yuta is laying in bed with his phone stretched above him when Mark walks in. “What are you doing, oppa?”

“I’m watching an anime.”

He expects Mark to give a dejected “oh” and find someone else to entertain him. But instead the boy walks right up to his bed and leans over him as Yuta turns the screen in his direction. “Is that One Piece?” he asks. Yuta hums in confirmation. “Oh, cool.”

The screen is still playing, one earbud still tucked into Yuta’s ear, but Mark doesn’t move. He leans there with one hand pressed into the mattress as they watch the characters argue, even though Mark can’t hear (and wouldn’t understand) what they’re saying. Yuta feels a little awkward, honestly, because he’s not sure if Mark needs something, or if Yuta’s supposed to turn his phone off to be polite, or…?

Mark looks down at him. His eyes are round and curious, and his mouth looks so soft when he asks, simply, “Can I watch?”

Yuta blinks. “Oh.” Mark’s black hair is getting a little too long. It hangs over his brows and blends in with his eye lashes. “Sure.”

He pushes himself up from the right side of the mattress and down onto the left to make room for the younger boy, who immediately squeezes into remaining space like it’s no big deal. Mark adjusts the pillow behind his neck, points at the screen, and turns to Yuta. “Are there any subtitles?”

From this close, Mark’s eyes look even bigger than they normally are. Doe-like, brown and innocent and always sparkling. “Oh, right,” Yuta says, and he quickly turns away. He fiddles with the menu until he finds the captions. There isn’t a Korean setting but they have English subtitles, and that works well enough for Mark.

The screen is small so Mark has to shift until his head is nearly on Yuta’s shoulder to get a good view. “Thanks, oppa,” Mark murmurs. It’s gotten to a point where they don’t crack up every time they say it. It just feels normal for Mark now, as normal as calling the other members ‘hyung’.

The corners of Yuta’s lips quirk upwards the same way they do every time Mark uses the nickname. He doesn’t say anything, just teasingly bumps Mark’s arm and appreciates the (almost) skinship that Mark is normally so hesitant to offer.

By the end of the episode, Mark’s cheek is squished against Yuta’s arm and his exhales have become soft and even. Yuta turns off the screen and carefully lowers the phone onto his nightstand, trying not to move too suddenly. It needs to be charged but Yuta doesn’t want to risk waking Mark, not when he looks so peaceful. He shifts until Mark’s big head isn’t pressed so heavily against his bones, and Yuta pets the boy’s hair until his thoughts fade into dreams.

They fall asleep like that, still in their day clothes and laying atop the covers. And that night feels a lot less lonely.

Things change during the 24hr relay cam event.

The concept is simple: NCTzens get to spend an entire 24 hours with NCT, with each member taking a Vlive time slot to do whatever they please. “Alright. Alright, right now I’m with…” Mark stretches from the back seat of the car to the front so the camera includes Yuta in frame. “Nakamoto Yuta-san!”

“ _Alriiight,_ ” Yuta imitates, waving to the camera.

Mark has one hour of airtime as part of the event. “I get time to play with one of the members today,” he tells the camera cheerfully as he sits back then. He gets to do almost anything he wants as long as he includes one of the other members. And for some reason – out of all 8 of them – he chose Yuta.

Yuta leans his head back against the seat, counting the yellowy lights in the parking garage. “I can’t believe Mark picked me,” he says and laughs just loud enough for the camera to hear.

But Yuta doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. He really is baffled that, for whatever reason, Mark decided to spend his time with Yuta. _Yuta_ , the same hyung who teases him like it’s a hobby. Who turns every one of Mark’s awkward comments into a sly roast. It really doesn’t make sense.

When these things first started happening, Yuta thought they were out of pity. Mark is a nice guy, so of course when he saw Yuta sulking, he would try to help. That’s just what Mark does.

But Winwin has been gone for a while, yet Mark stays near. Mark keeps picking him for games when he doesn’t have to. Mark hangs out with Yuta even though he has every other member – and every human citizen really – wrapped around his finger.

They close the car doors behind them and walk into the daylight. Yuta smiles despite himself. “Mark picked me,” he says again, like he’s bragging. “The reason Mark picked me is…”

He snaps to alertness as Mark nearly steps off the curb of the sidewalk and into the traffic. Honestly, this happens so often that Yuta doesn’t need to think about it, just tugs Mark back by one shoulder.

“Oh!” Mark watches the car pass by, looks to the camera man, glances up at Yuta, repeats the sequence. “Oppa,” he gasps dramatically, “Did you just save my life?”

Yuta smiles despite himself. “Of course,” he says. Yuta never takes their jokes too seriously, but he still can’t help a small swell of pride (or something like that) that lights him from the inside. It feels good. Being around Mark feels good.

So they eat together and talk about aliens (mostly Mark) and about what their lives will look like in twenty years (mostly Yuta) and it’s almost like the cameras aren’t there. The hour passes by so quickly that they’re genuinely surprised when the staff tells them the live is ending.

Mark and Yuta say their goodbyes, the camera’s red light goes black… and then they pick up their conversation right where they left off. ( _“Seriously dude, ugg boots will never be fashionable!”)_

Neither of them realizes their mistake until their names are trending on Twitter the next day. _‘Hold on… did Mark call Yuta his oppa??!??!’_ Oh. Oops.

So Yuta isn’t surprised when, not long after the relay ends, Mark shows up in his room. “Next episode?” Yuta asks casually, but he knows Mark isn’t here for a Dragon Ball marathon.

Mark stands near the door with those big eyes and his hands clenched nervously at his sides. “I messed up,” his voice wavers.

Yuta shrugs and turns back to his phone. He could beat around the bush and pretend he doesn’t know what Mark is talking about, but Yuta always prefers to get to the point. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, but-” Mark’s eyes flicker from Yuta’s face to the wall behind him to the ceiling above them to the floor beneath them. “It’s… It’s all over twitter, people are saying that we…”

Yuta finally looks at him and Mark’s gaze is immediately drawn back to his face. “So?” he asks. Mark’s face heats as he stutters over nothing, wringing his hands in front of him as his voice fades to incoherent mumbling.

The older man waits a few seconds. When Mark doesn’t elaborate, Yuta sighs and waves Mark over. “You’re getting worried over nothing again,” he says. Mark’s mouth twists, but he still sits beside Yuta on the bed and listens. “People say things all the time. They say things about me, they say things about Taeyong, they say things about…” Yuta shakes his head. “You just have to ignore it. Give it some time, and people will move on to something more exciting.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. After a pause, he leans his head down to the pillow, arm tucked beneath him as he closes his eyes. “Maybe,” he mumbles.

Yuta sets his phone down. He rolls over to face the younger boy. “Relax. ‘Kay?” He reaches over and brushes Mark’s bangs out of his eyes. “Actually, the managers are happy about it. Apparently we got a boost in album sales.” Yuta chuckles, mouth slanting. “Maybe you should call me oppa more often.”

Mark opens his eyes and stares at Yuta. It wasn’t that long ago, Yuta thinks, that Mark refused skinship of any kind. But now Mark’s bangs have already been pushed to the side yet Yuta’s thumb still pets circles over his temples, hoping the touch will soothe him. And Mark lets him. “It doesn’t bother you?” he asks quietly. His eyes are big and round and shiny, even when he’s upset.

“It doesn’t bother me.” It’s the truth.

Mark gives a small nod, eyes dropping as he thinks about something.

And… ah, Yuta knows he shouldn’t. He _knows_ he shouldn’t poke, that it’s so stupid to let his insecurities guide his actions, but he’s never been good at suppressing impulses. “Does it upset you that much that they think you like me?” It’s just a joke, just teasing, smiling crookedly, leaving it ambiguous just in case. After all, there’s more than one way to interpret ‘like’. But it’s nothing serious. It’s just to be funny. (Right?)

Mark’s mouth opens. His gaze rises to Yuta’s chin but cowers before they can make eye contact. “It’s… It’s not that…” he mumbles.

Yeah, Yuta knows it isn’t. It wouldn’t be so personal. But still. He thinks for a moment (and he _knows_ he shouldn’t, but…). Yuta clears his throat. “You know, the managers actually asked me to keep doing it.”

Mark’s head shoots up. His eyes are wide again. “Huh?”

Yuta keeps it casual. He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Because it isn’t. Really. “The sales went up. They like that.” He purses his lips, avoids Mark’s face. Just casually. That’s all. “So they want us to play it up.”

It takes a second for Mark to digest the statement. When it finally hits him, his voice shoots up. “Seriously?!”

“Mmhm.” Well, sort of. They may have worded it a little differently. If Yuta thinks back, he _might_ recall the statement as being that maybe it ‘wouldn’t be so bad’ if they continued with the oppa narrative... but a few extra details don’t hurt.

There’s a sustained pause. Mark’s mouth is still gaping as his mind boards a train of thought. And Yuta doesn’t know what to say – he doesn’t know _why_ he said those things in the first place – so he stays quiet and waits for the younger boy to speak up.

The younger boy, laying beside him with his brows furrowed and nose scrunched, who was thirteen when Yuta met him. Who has grown into an adult now, but whose eyes still sparkle in admiration whenever he watches Yuta do the most basic, unremarkable things. Who always looks up to Yuta with those big excited eyes, as if maybe Yuta really _is_ like a big brother to him. Like maybe Yuta really _is_ an ‘oppa’ to him.

The door opens and they both flinch, snapping their heads in its direction. Taeil pauses awkwardly just beyond the doorframe, taken aback by their sudden alertness. He glances over his shoulder to the hall and leans onto his back foot like he wants to step out of the weird tension.

Yuta finds his voice. “Hey, Taeil. You’re turning in for the night?” Calm, even pitch, because it’s no big deal.

“Um…” Taeil tilts his head, still hesitating. “Yeah, I was thinking I’d go to bed early, since… we’re starting the new choreography tomorrow.” He looks between Yuta and Mark. “But…”

“That’s smart,” Yuta interrupts. He pushes up onto his elbows. “I’ve heard this one’s going to be really high-energy.”

Taeil laughs through his nose. “They’re _all_ high-energy.”

“Fair enough.” He sits up and Mark is staring at him with those big eyes. Yuta meets his gaze. “You should sleep soon too. I’m sure they have something exciting planned for you.” He can’t help a mischievous smirk. “Our _main dancer_.”

“Yeah…” Mark smiles shyly. He sits up too but doesn’t move his legs off the bed. He keeps glancing at Yuta like he’s expecting something, or like he wants to say something, or like he’s trying to send some psychic message that Yuta’s neurons can’t comprehend. And Taeil is still poised by the door like he’s unsure of his welcome. They’re both so awkward as they wait for Yuta to do something, _anything_ … Yuta sighs.

He pats Mark on the back. “Go,” he says, nudging him until Mark is on his knees.

Mark hesitates, mouth opening and closing as he glances between Yuta, the bed sheets, the floor, Taeil, and back again, so Yuta smiles at him. He waits until the worry slips from the boy’s features, until Mark is able to mirror his reassurance, then playfully shoves his shoulder. Mark laughs, right foot dropping to the floor from the impact.

“We can keep talking tomorrow,” Yuta tells him. “Now go get some rest before Taeyong gets mad at you.”

(Taeyong doesn’t get mad, _ever_ , but his concern and disappointment are just as deterring and they both know it.)

“Okay,” Mark yields, finally standing, “but you need to rest too!” He takes one step backwards towards the door, still facing Yuta’s bed. “You’re our best dancer!”

Yuta snorts. “That’s you and Taeyong,” he corrects. That’s why those two are the _main_ dancers, why Yuta got bumped down to just _lead_ dancer.

“No-“ Mark stops himself, knowing he’s no match for Yuta’s stubbornness. “Well…” he looks down to floor, takes a step backwards. “I don’t know. _I_ think you’re the best dancer, the most, like… fun to watch. You know.” One more step back.

Yuta smiles fondly, leaning forward on the mattress to hug his arms around his knees. “Goodnight, Mark.”

Mark keeps his eyes on the floor and nods, takes another step backwards. “Yeah.” He frowns, nods one more time. Then he spins around, offers a quick “Goodnight, hyung,” to Taeil, and disappears out the door.

Taeil watches him leave and then slowly turns back to Yuta with his eyes opened wide. Taeil is a man of few words, but Yuta knows him well enough to read the ‘What just happened?’ in his body language.

Yuta shrugs. “You know how he is.” Some of his brown hair has fallen out of its ponytail, so he uses it as an excuse to bend his head down, gather his hair at the back of his head, and avoid Taeil’s stare. “Mark worries about little things.” He pulls the elastic off his wrist and twists it around the hair he has sectioned. “I’m not the type who ever worries about anything, so he likes to talk to me about it I guess.”

Taeil hums, lets himself fall back against his bed and turns his head sideways on the pillow. “That’s not true.”

Yuta freezes. His hands stay rigidly held up behind him. Some of the hair slips from the elastic. He clears his throat, keeps his expression neutral. “Hm? What’s not true?”

Taeil watches him. “You worry about things too. Maybe not as much, but still.”

Yuta releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He gives his head a quick shake, regathers his hair, and twists the elastic until it stays on its own.

Taeil’s eyes are soft. “Just because you deal with it quietly,” he says, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

He wasn’t expecting that. Yuta laughs, low and breathless. He could disagree because, well, Yuta doesn’t _worry_ , he just thinks about things. But he knows that Taeil never believes him anyway, so Yuta just shakes his head. He kicks down his comforter until he fits beneath it then rolls to one side, so Taeil sees only his back.

“It’s funny,” Yuta says quietly. This side of the mattress is still warm. He realizes it’s because Mark lay there just a few minutes ago. “Taeil, for someone who doesn’t say a lot, you say a lot. Don’t you?”

He hears shuffling behind him, presumably as Taeil gets ready for bed. “We’ve known you for years,” is all Taeil says. As if that explains everything.

When Yuta closes his eyes, he sees a thirteen-year-old boy smiling up at him. Undyed black hair, teeth that haven’t met braces, dimples that get deeper the more time they spend together. The way he frowns when he moves in front of a mirror, eyes narrowed when his leg isn’t bent at the right angle. The way he turns backwards, accidentally calls out Yuta’s name without an honorific, and asks Yuta to teach him. And always, when Yuta approaches him. Always, when Yuta shows the steps at half-speed. Always, whenever Yuta so much as breaths; there’s a sparkle in the boy’s eyes.

Yuta tugs on his pillow and tries to readjust himself. His cheek finds warmth that wasn’t there before and, _ah_ , Yuta realizes. It’s because Mark lay here a few minutes ago. He had his hand under his cheek, positioned sideways to give his full attention, watching Yuta’s every reaction through eyes that sparkle. That sparkle with an admiration that’s been there from the very beginning. An admiration that hasn’t faded still, no matter how successful he gets or how undeserving Yuta is.

 _We’ve known you for years,_ Taeil said, as if that explains everything. And maybe it does.

Yuta takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, holds it deep within his lungs.

_…But maybe it doesn’t._

He breathes out.

It is, indeed, a high-energy choreography. A sexy choreography, hands over their heads, hips swaying side-to-side. But that’s okay. Despite the bouncing, the kicking, the tricky isolations, Yuta’s not tired. Because he spends half of the song off-stage, watching the _main_ dancers count their beats and synchronize their steps.

He tries not to think about it too much. He turns his back so he’ll stop subconsciously memorizing the steps to solos he’ll never get to perform. He sits down near the wall, grabs a juice box, stabs the straw through the plastic, and focuses on the taste of artificial strawberries.

Maybe Taeil was right, he thinks. Maybe his members have known him for too long, because despite Yuta’s efforts to keep his expression neutral and unbothered, his groupmates all give enough space to fit his storm cloud.

Except for one.

“Yooo!” Mark plops down beside Yuta and leans to grab a juice box of his own. “Ugh, they got the strawberry one again? We tell them literally every time that it tastes like shit.”

Hmm… no, that wasn’t quite it. Yuta remembers what the members called it. “It tastes like week-old bubble gum.”

Mark has heard this joke before. It wasn’t that funny then, and it’s not that funny now. Hell, Yuta wasn’t even the one who came up with it. And yet Mark laughs.

He laughs and his hand reaches for anything close enough – like Yuta’s thigh – so he can slap it to the rhythm of his giggles. Eventually Yuta has to swat him away when the skin starts to sting, but by that point Yuta is grinning too, and it’s so stupid and ridiculous that they crack up again every time their eyes meet.

Yuta has to look away so they can attempt an actual conversation (and he’d be lying if he said Mark’s presence didn’t automatically brighten his mood). He plays with the straw between his fingers, folding it and twirling it. “Are you tired?” he asks.

Mark is ready to insist he’s fine – Yuta can tell – but ultimately he sighs and nods. “Doyoung was the one who made us take break.” His mouth twists mischievously on one side. “Well, he told _Taeyong_ to take a break, I was just there when it happened.”

Yuta snorts. “You should call him out on it next time. He gets funny when people pick on him.”

“Yeah, but.” Mark shrugs, sips at his liquified week-old bubble gum. “I dunno, I don’t mind taking a break.” That’s not what Yuta meant – _of course_ Mark deserves a break, Yuta would pay a _fortune_ to give the boy a chance to rest for once – and he’s about to say so, when Mark adds, “Besides…”

Yuta looks up to the mirror. He can see Mark’s reflection smile, dimples deepening with whatever’s on his mind. “Besides…” Mark repeats – but then he catches Yuta’s gaze through the glass and gets shy. He immediately averts his gaze and loses himself in nervous laughter.

But Yuta is patient. He waits for Mark to regain his composure, like he always does. He doesn’t interrupt or make fun of him. He watches quietly like he’s actually interested in what Mark has to say, like Yuta always does. It’s one of the things Mark likes most about him, his patience, his genuineness.

Mark gives himself a shake, unable to suppress an embarrassed smile. Then he finally looks up. He meets Yuta’s gaze in the mirror and, with a sudden burst of courage, a bright grin out of nowhere, he says without stuttering, “I like spending time with my _oppa._ ”

If it were anyone else, Yuta might cringe from the cheesiness. But when Mark smiles at him like that, beaming and giggly and eyes alight, it’s somehow not cringeworthy at all. He stares back, face neutral, and mumbles. “Cute.”

Yuta doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.

They start off slow. Or, well, _Yuta_ starts off slow and Mark tries his best to adapt.

At first, all they do is stand close to each other. And then they stand clos _er_. Yuta smiles at Mark the way he always does, but now he does it _more_ , and he does it on camera. And Mark immediately averts his gaze, because _yooo, that’s embarrassing!_

But Mark has always been adaptable. He adapted to a country he’d only see in photobooks. He adapted to a language he’d never spoken, has somehow learned to rap seven syllables per second. He adapts to each concept, from 127 to Dream to U to SuperM and back. He adapts to every challenge the company throws at him – a spontaneous interview, a fresh collab, another new damn subunit – and smiles every step of the way. Because that’s what Mark is good at: No matter what the world throws at him, Mark _adapts_ , and he puts his all into everything he tries.

When Yuta wraps his arm around Mark’s shoulders for the first time on-screen, Mark flinches and shrugs him off, glancing warily at the camera. The second time it happens, Mark still hesitates but bears with it. The third time, Mark lets it happen. By the fourth time he finally relaxes, and by the fifth time he even leans into the touch, looks up at Yuta and smiles sweetly.

And this time, Yuta is the one who has to look away. Yuta, too, needs a chance to adapt.

They’re on a variety show the first time that “Yuta-oppa” slips out (on purpose). Mark’s voice is a little shaky, unsure. He turns to the older male as if for reassurance and Yuta – whose hair is long and white now – can’t help but smile back. Eventually Mark doesn’t need to stutter or blush when he says it. Eventually it becomes as natural as when they’re in the dorms – if not _more_ so.

But it doesn’t just stop once the cameras turn off.

When they get into the car after the show, Mark calls dibs on the seat beside Yuta’s. As soon as his seatbelt is buckled, Mark grins up at him and shoves an earbud into Yuta’s ear. He says he found a song he thinks Yuta might like. They ride home connected by the wire and 120 BPM. (And Yuta does, in fact, really like the song.)

Now, Mark no longer meekly asks for permission to visit Yuta’s room. Now, he waits for the Japanese man to acknowledge his special knock ( _tap,_ pause _, tap-tap_ ), which Yuta always greets with “ _Okaerinasai~!_ ” (their latest inside joke). Now, Mark doesn’t hesitate to walk in and show Yuta a funny meme he found. And Yuta doesn’t know why Mark bothers coming to him when Jungwoo, who laughs the loudest, is just in the other room. Instead, Mark always has to explain who Keanu Reeves is or why the stick bug is dancing or what ‘Rickrolling’ means.

“Ah, this is Gen Z humor,” Yuta sighs every time. And yet the next day he still hears that familiar _tap_ , pause, _tap-tap_ , and Mark swears that this cat video is even funnier than the last one.

When they’re just sitting in the living room together talking about nothing, Johnny comes in and invites Mark out to go shopping. Mark gives a thoughtful hum and, for _no reason at all_ , says “Nah, I think I’ll stay here with Yuta.”

Yuta waits for Johnny to ask why or to comment on the absurdity – because this is _absurd_ – but Johnny just shrugs. “Text me if you need anything,” he says and leaves without so much as a weird look.

So Mark resumes his conversation about how he _swears_ there’s a ghost in the recording studio, as if nothing weird just happened – and Yuta has no idea how to ask. So he follows Mark’s lead and suggests that, hey, maybe that’s why the acoustics are so good in that room. “Maybe the ghost has good taste in music.” When Mark wonders who the ghost’s bias is, Yuta gives him his full attention (like he always does) and admires the way Mark’s hands emphasize every word.

Then one day when Yuta is on the living room floor drawing on his iPad, Mark decides he has nothing better to do than to sit down behind him and twirl Yuta’s white hair around his fingers. “Oppa’s hair is soft,” he says contently, then decides to trace patterns across Yuta’s back. And Yuta expects him to eventually get bored and leave. But instead Mark sits up, rests his chin over Yuta’s shoulder, and quietly watches his oppa paint sunflowers out of pixels. “It looks good,” he says when Yuta finally sets his pen down, and he sounds like he means it.

Yuta takes all of this as permission. He reads the tweets and the Youtube comments – “ _omg YuMark is so cute, they should just date already! #relationshipgoals_ ” – and decides to step it up a notch. When he loses a game he immediately runs to Mark, hugs him tightly and pretends to cry into his shoulder. Mark is clearly taken off-guard, his whole body tenses from the unexpected skinship, but it only takes a second or two before he’s petting Yuta’s back and murmuring, “It’s okay, you’ll get it next round.” Because Mark _adapts_. He’s good at that.

During the next interview, when the host asks Yuta what his ideal type is, Yuta boldly answers: “Mark Lee!” (Mark sputters in the background, turns tomato red, and everyone laughs. Because it’s a _joke_.) When they ask about his hobbies, Yuta declares, “I like making Mark smile!” When they ask about his future goals, “My dream is to capture Mark’s heart!” He points aegyo fingers guns to the camera and Mark chokes in the background.

(Yuta doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean – but this is different, this is a _joke_ ; it doesn’t count.)

When the group gather for their monthly movie night (a tradition Taeyong insists on), Haechan, Johnny, and Jungwoo are fighting for a spot on the couch, where Mark and Yuta take up the left side and poor Taeil is caught in the middle.

Not wanting to get involved, Mark retreats to someplace safe. He scoots away from their brawl until his thigh is squished against Yuta’s, tugs the older man’s arm around himself like a shield – because Yuta is _safe_ , no one would dare to mess with Yuta. They both know this. _Yuta_ knows this.

But then Haechan gets pushed and almost crushes Mark from their struggle, and Mark realizes he’s still in the danger zone. _Clearly_ he needs more protection. So, without any warning, Mark pushes himself up onto Yuta’s lap – and oh god Yuta was _not_ ready, he has no idea what to do with his hands, he gawks at the back of the boy’s hair like he can’t quite believe it.

From the corner of his eye Yuta sees Taeyong smiling fondly at them… until Doyoung suddenly smacks his arm. “You’re the one who picked the movie,” he shrieks, “but you’re not even watching it!”

Chaos ensues. The members explode into a very heated discussion over whether movie selections should adopt a democratic philosophy, because apparently they are currently living under a tyrannical dictatorship and the time has finally come for a revolution! Justice shall prevail! Down with the patriarchy! (Or something like that.)

So nobody pays any mind to Yuta or Mark or their odd seating arrangement.

Mark doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t blush or squirm or break out into flustered giggles. He sits atop Yuta’s lap like he has every right to be there, like he belongs there. And even after Johnny claims the couch, and Jungwoo settles with a pillow fort, and Haechan clings to Taeil’s legs, Mark leans back comfortably until his head rests against Yuta’s shoulder. Yuta has no idea how to cope with all of this.

Yuta could push him off. He’s never been shy about setting his boundaries, and Mark’s ass is cushiony enough to survive a drop to the floor. Nothing would change: They’d probably just laugh it off and Yuta might complain that Mark has gained weight and Mark would say he’s being mean and the entire group would hurry to white knight him, and it would be no big deal because it’s not, really, it’s not.

So in the end, Yuta doesn’t force himself to adapt.

He chooses to.

And when Mark gets sleepy and starts to slip, Yuta wraps an arm around his waist to keep him steady. He keeps it there because, well, Mark could slip again, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Besides, Haechan has his arms and legs wrapped around a defeated-looking Taeil’s back. And Jungwoo has his head in Taeyong’s lap, the latter softly pets his hair, and the ring around Taeyong’s index matches the one on Doyoung’s pinky. So it’s not a big deal. It’s not like Yuta is the only one Mark has cuddled up to anyway.

The movie is nearing its conclusion. Nemo finds his dad, all is well in the coral reef, hip-hip-hooray. It’s funny, Mark never makes it to the end of a movie. He always seems to lose consciousness two-thirds of the way in and Yuta often has to explain how the story ends – “Yeah, the sharks came and ate Dory. It was really bloody and everything, too bad you missed it.”

What’s less funny is when Mark starts to squirm.

Yuta loosens his grip and lets Mark readjust and get comfortable, no problem, but then Mark turns sideways. He shifts until his arm is folded against Yuta’s chest and his face is buried into Yuta’s neck. When he sighs in his sleep, it feels warm against Yuta’s skin. Mark’s hand, clutching at the front of Yuta’s shirt, is held too close to his heart; he can probably feel it beating.

Yuta has his limits.

He presses one hand around Mark’s waist, the other digging under Mark’s thigh, and pushes Mark forward as delicately as he can until the boy is off his lap and onto his thighs instead. Mark’s head loses its cushion; the drop of his chin is sudden enough for the boy’s eyes to slip open, just a small slit hidden behind long lashes. Yuta gives him another light push, strong enough to shake him a little, but still careful not to risk him falling off. “Alright Markie, time for bed.”

The members turn at the sound of his voice. Yuta really wishes they wouldn’t.

Yuta helps the younger boy onto his feet and sends the members a tight smile. “He was getting heavy,” he offers lamely (it’s not a lie). “I’ll just get him up to bed.”

Taeyong pushes onto his knees, ready to stand. “It’s okay, I can take care of him if you want to stay.”

Mark wobbles, still mostly asleep, and Yuta keeps a hand on his back to keep him balanced. He supports Mark when Mark can’t support himself, _always_. “Nah it’s fine, I’m probably going to turn in anyway for tonight.” He gestures at the television. “Besides, you have to know how the movie ends.”

The credits start rolling behind them. Oops.

Haechan comes to his rescue. “Hyung, relaaax, Mark isn’t that fragile.” He crawls forward on his hands and knees and sits with a baby-ish pout. “You newah wowwy wike that ower me!” he whines. (That’s bullshit, everyone knows that Haechan gets spoiled rotten.) Doyoung gags from the aegyo but Taeyong is charmed. He leans forward to pinch both of Haechan’s cheeks, cooing at him as Jaehyun sets up the second movie – which, thanks to the ‘democratic revolution’ from a few hours ago, has been changed from Despicable Me 1 to Despicable Me 2.

Yuta walks Mark away from the chaos. He holds the door as they leave the fifth floor’s dorm behind. It’s amazing how much quieter the hallway becomes after the door seals shut. The lack of noise – other than the sleepy whines Mark lets out – makes Yuta a little uncomfortable. He wonders what someone would think if they saw them like this, Yuta hiking a barely conscious Mark Lee up to his dorm. They probably wouldn’t think anything of it, honestly. It’s not like it’s the first time Mark has fallen asleep during movie night, it’s not Yuta’s first time bringing him up to bed. Yuta knows that no one would think anything of it, that they probably wouldn’t spare a second glance. But still. He feels oddly self-conscious.

From the way he trudges along, Yuta is pretty sure Mark has closed his eyes again, so he rests his hands on the younger boy’s hips to guide him left or right down SM’s halls. He yanks back on Mark’s pajama pants when it’s time to stop.

When Yuta steps forward to press the elevator button, Mark looks up and blinks. His eyes squint, his jaw drops, and a big yawn takes over his features… Yuta thinks he looks so small like this. Small, and precious, and so overworked. It’s why no one ever complains when Mark doesn’t make it to the movie’s climax. It’s why they fawn over him instead of telling him to get his ass up and walk. It’s why they try to avoid conflicts and petty feuds, because Mark and Taeyong and even Haechan are already stressed enough. And maybe Yuta should be more conscious of that. Maybe Yuta should stop pushing him, stop testing him. Maybe Yuta is making things even harder for him than they already are.

Mark closes his mouth with a small sigh. He curls in on himself, chin meeting his collar, squinting away from the light and mumbling complaints. And then Mark reaches out with his right hand. He searches forward, his fingers grasp at nothing; the boy frowns. He stretches a little further, waves his hand around, his fingers grasp at nothing; now Mark whines, drawn out and pitchy and frustrated.

“Shh,” Yuta says softly, but he can’t help but laugh a little. He lifts his arm so the tips of Mark’s fingers can tug onto his sleeve and pull him forward. Mark nuzzles his face into the fabric, shielding him from the light of the hall, and takes a deep breath in. “You’re so cute like this, Markie,” Yuta coos. The elevator opens.

Mark doesn’t move easily so Yuta has to jostle him forward into the elevator before the doors shut them out. He elbows Mark’s side. “Come on Markie, wake up a little, hm?” The boy grunts. Yuta laughs and bends to his level. “It’s hard to walk when you’re like this, you know. Find a little energy, make my life easier. Okay? Can you do that?”

Mark nods. Yuta can’t see his face well, but he thinks the boy is pouting his lip. Ah, it’s too much, it almost hurts. “You’re so cute,” he murmurs, and pets Mark’s hair.

Luckily when the doors open on the tenth floor, Mark has indeed found a little more pep. He walks on his own with Yuta’s hand on his arm just in case and, as soon as they make it into the dorm, traces the familiar path straight into his room. Yuta huffs a laugh, pausing to lock the front door before he follows suit.

Mark is already curled up on top of his covers, knees bent to his chest in fetal position. “No,” Yuta tsks, “Not yet,” but the boy grunts and doesn’t move. Yuta sighs. He knew, deep down, that he would have to do all the work. (He still chose to.)

Yuta leaves and comes back, then pokes at Mark’s cheek. “Open.” And Mark, spoiled as he is, opens his mouth without questioning. He doesn’t flinch when Yuta scrubs the toothbrush against his teeth. He takes the water from Yuta’s hand, swishes it around his mouth and swallows it down, wiping his mouth on his bare arm, never even opening his eyes.

“That’s not very lady-like,” Yuta teases. He’s surprised to hear Mark snort, and pinches the boy’s cheek in retaliation. “Hey, if you’re that awake, you can do this yourself, you know!”

Mark shakes his head and giggles quietly, smiling with his eyes still closed. He tries to turn down to the mattress, but Yuta stops him, “Nope, not yet,” and pulls him back into a sitting position. “Stay still.” Mark feels a wet cloth touch his cheek, then his nose, his forehead, his chin. It’s nice and warm… Yuta must have let the faucet run first, and Mark recognizes the orangey smell of his face cleanser. “The stylists will kill you,” Yuta murmurs, “if you show up to tomorrow’s shoot with pimples all over your face.”

“Mm.”

Mark tries to chase the warmth when Yuta pulls away the cloth, but Yuta is already swatting at his legs. “Come on. Up.” Mark scoots backwards so Yuta can pull the covers out from underneath him.

He feels Yuta’s hands tucking the blankets into his sides and hums, reaching blindly until he finds Yuta’s fingers. “C’mere.”

Yuta heaves a dramatic sigh. “You’re so demanding, Mark Lee. What do you want now?”

“C’meeere…” Mark whines. He tugs at Yuta’s hand again, then pats the spot behind him. “Come. Heee-re.”

“Not with that attitude.” He snorts at Mark’s sulky groan and nudges his side. “Then move your ass.”

“You just tucked me in though,” Mark mumbles, but he shifts until there’s enough room for Yuta to lay down beside him.

Mark is always cuddly when he’s tired, but he’s become even more comfortable around them lately. It’s nice, Yuta thinks. As soon as Yuta rests on his back the boy moves in closer. Mark struggles to reach him through the cocoon of his blankets, and Yuta knows he’ll wake himself up if he gets too energetic, so he concedes to his unspoken demands. Yuta turns up onto his side to lazily drop his arm across Mark’s bundle of blankets, and Mark sighs at its weight, the warmth.

“What’s up?” Yuta asks when he notices his little smile.

“Mm…” His t-shirt tickles Mark’s nose. Mark breathes in its smell, lets it fill his lungs and relax his body. They all wash their clothes together, the same detergent, the same washing machine, but somehow Yuta always smells different. _Better_. He smells like comfort and safety and affection. “I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” Yuta pets gently up and down his back, smiles at the way Mark arches into the skinship. Before, he would have squirmed away; now, Mark purrs at the touch. “Why’s that?”

He expects Mark to talk about the new song, because he’d raved about how much he loves the karate kicks. He expects Mark to note the jajangmyeon they had for dinner, one of Mark’s favourite foods. He expects Mark to discuss the movie night, because he loves to spend time together without cameras.

Not a single neuron in his brain expects the answer Mark actually gives.

Mark lowers his forehead onto Yuta’s chest. He can faintly feel the echo of his heartbeat, his hum tickles Yuta’s skin. He feels the warmth of Yuta’s hand through the blankets, gently stroking his back. Mark’s tongue tastes like mint, his face is still a little damp. He breathes in, and it smells like encouragements and shoulder rubs, like a hand ruffling his hair, like tight hugs when you least expect it, like a smile that heals every criticism… He smells like Yuta. Fondly, “Oppa takes good care of me,” Mark whispers.

Yuta pauses. He feels an instinctual shiver inside him. The nervousness and fear that made him push off the couch in the first place. A sliver of insecurity within the confidence he so values. A guilt that comes out of nowhere, that tells him he doesn’t deserve this.

But then he feels Mark shift under his hand. He feels his face nuzzle into Yuta’s chest, feels Mark’s fingers twist in his shirt, feels a content sigh that gives him goosebumps. So Yuta lets the thoughts go (for now). He says breathlessly, “Okay,” like he’s giving himself permission to be complimented.

He pets up and down the boy’s back until Mark’s breaths gradually get deeper, longer, peaceful; Yuta listens to them like the song from Mark’s earbuds that day, the song that made Mark think of him. A song Yuta later downloaded onto his phone, a song he plays when he needs some reassurance. A song that reminds him of moments like this one.

“Okay,” he whispers again. Like he’s finally giving himself permission.

(The next day, Yuta adds that song to his favourites list.)

Today is another variety show. This one, at least, is within the company building. They walk in with matching outfits, stand in a line and never turn their backs to the cameras. They go along with the tasks, mustering energy they don’t have enough of, smiling and laughing and gasping like they’ve been trained to do. They are performers; they put on a performance.

And Yuta has received clear instructions.

While they were still setting up, the manager called his name. When Yuta looked up, the manager didn’t bother to beckon him closer. He kept eye contact for a few seconds, made sure Yuta was paying close attention. Then his pupils switched to the right corners of his sclera, looking somewhere further on the set. Yuta followed his gaze and was led to Mark, who was humming a song and dancing on the spot, bouncing on the tips of his toes, head bopping to a rhythm no one else could hear. Yuta turned back. The manager raised his brows, implicitly asking if Yuta understood, and Yuta nodded. He got the message. Yuta knows his role.

As soon as the cameras light red, Yuta wraps his arm around Mark’s shoulders. Mark doesn’t flinch anymore from things like this, not like he used to, but today he hardly even acknowledges it. He acts normal (for a variety show at least), makes jokes, laughs louder than he would off-screen, claps his hands together, and avoids looking anywhere in Yuta’s direction.

Yuta doesn’t like that.

He wants a reaction. The _director_ wants a reaction. So he reaches his other arm across Mark’s front, pulls him close, squeezes him like a koala on bamboo. This time Mark does tense but he still doesn’t look. Yuta _wants_ him to look. He keeps his face right next to Mark’s, nose almost touching his cheek, and stares. Yuta knows the power of his dark eyes, the pressure they exude, the intensity that is so hard to ignore. Now he uses it as a weapon. And he waits.

But somehow Mark ignores it. And when Doyoung sits on the throne, Mark steps forward to comment on it. It’s so subtle; but the movement forces Yuta to stumble after him and loosens his grip. And if Yuta were to pull Mark back now, it would look awkward – hell, it probably _already_ looked awkward with the way Mark stands so stick-straight in his hug.

So Yuta lets him win this one: He steps back and resigns to just one arm around Mark’s shoulders. And he looks where he’s supposed to look, reacts how the other members react, but listens with half a mind and withdraws with the other.

See, when Yuta had woken up that morning, he was still in Mark’s room, still on Mark’s bed – but alone. And that was a little surprising, but only because Yuta is naturally an early riser; he’s usually the first one awake. But whatever, he didn’t think much of it. He got up, made Mark’s bed for him and began humming a song under his breath – the melody was stuck in his head all night.

Honestly, Yuta felt cheery that morning. He had a feeling why that was, but he buried it down for now and followed the tinkling sound of cutlery. Sure enough, Mark Lee sat in the kitchen, swirling his spoon through milk and watching his cereal follow its current.

Yuta grinned. He tiptoed forward, snuck up behind Mark’s, and suddenly hugged his arms around Mark’s neck. “Good morning,” he sang, nuzzling his cheek in Mark’s hair. And Mark jumped, as expected, but he didn’t spin around with a _‘Yooooo’_ like he normally would have. He didn’t break into laughter or get flustered. His spoon clinked against the bowl from the surprise, but Mark stayed silent. He stayed tense.

Yuta pulled back but kept his hands on Mark’s shoulders, massaged his thumbs into the muscles. “Mark?” No answer. He stopped his hands, lowered his voice. “Is everything okay?”

Mark paused for too long. “Yeah, no it’s fine, hyung. Yeah.” He pushed his chair back, rose to his feet. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

That was a lie. Yuta was _there_ , he got to see what Mark looks like when he’s dreaming. But he stayed quiet. He watched Mark pour his milk into the sink, watched him scoop soggy rice krispies into the garbage, watched him stack his bowl onto the pile of dirty dishes, watched him walk away.

And Yuta felt that instinct return two-fold. He felt the fear, the guilt, the sliver of insecurity. But he swallowed it down. Because Yuta doesn’t _worry_ , he just thinks about things. He thinks about things a lot.

“What is the most important trait for a king?” Taeyong asks from the throne, and Yuta snaps back to attention.

They go down the line. “Money.” “Brains.” “Wisdom.”

It’s easy for Yuta to come up with an answer. He lowers his chin, deepens his voice, and glares directly at the camera. “ _Power._ ” There’s a chorus of “ohh!” and Yuta is certain he looked super strong and intimidating – until he realizes he was staring at the wrong camera the whole time. _Ah_. Well done, Nakamoto.

The centre camera – the one he _should_ have been looking at – turns to Mark. Mark smiles and says “Courage!” And without thinking, he reaches up to grab Yuta’s hand and pushes it off his shoulder. Yuta’s arm falls limply back to his side. And the camera watches it happen.

Yuta is _fuming_. Doing this on-camera was an accident. But shoving him off was not. _What the fuck is going on?_

Pause: Yuta takes a deep breath. It’s what they taught him to do when his temper first became a problem. He counts to four. He breathes out. And he knows he has to do something, knows that the manager is surely watching.

Yuta reaches to the back of his pants until he finds the microphone pack, and twists the knob until it clicks off. Then he looks over at Mark, who is watching Haechan suck up to the ‘king’ and very clearly _not_ looking at Yuta. Yuta takes a step forward. He whispers, close enough for Mark to hear, “ _Don’t freak out_.”

Mark flinches anyway when Yuta suddenly hugs him, and he nearly loses his balance; but Yuta holds him steady. “I’ll let go in a second,” Yuta hurries. “But I need you to listen.” His hand drops from Mark’s shoulder to his collar, feigning an affectionate caress while subtly blocking the microphone under Mark’s shirt.

Mark stays still. _Thank god_ , or that would have looked really bad on-camera – “Oh, and don’t forget to keep smiling.” Yuta didn’t really think this through.

The older man purposely softens his expression so it will look like he’s whispering sweet nothings instead of scoldings. “The manager asked me to do fanservice,” he says. And Yuta swears he feels some of the tension leave just from that.

From what, the admission that his actions aren’t genuine? That he doesn’t care about Mark as much as it seems? That Yuta, too, is just a performer?

Mark still won’t look at him. He faces frontwards and speaks into thin air. “I… I need…” The boy swallows and confesses. “I need space.”

Yuta feels that sliver in his chest. “I know.” But he swallows it down. Now is not the time for that. “But I need you to play along.”

Mark pretends to laugh at whatever Haechan is saying.

Yuta wonders how much Mark remembers. Yuta wonders if he stepped too far (even though Mark was the one who pushed). Yuta wonders if he woke up with bad morning breath or something. Yuta wonders about a lot of things.

“…At least for a little while. I’ll…” Yuta clears his throat. He tries to brainstorm on the spot. “I’ll pull a stunt at some point.” He nods. “It’ll make them happy, and then you can avoid me as much as you want.” That stings. Especially when Mark doesn’t protest. Yuta breathes and forces a smile. “We can talk about…” He doesn’t know what to call it. “…about whatever this is: We can talk later.”

He feels Mark exhale and ignores the relief in the boy’s breath. Tries to.

His left arm drops from Mark’s front but he keeps his right arm around Mark’s back. He immediately looks to the staff to see if their cover was blown, and one of the audio technicians gestures wildly at him. Ah, right. Yuta reaches behind him to turn the microphone back on. And he watches Taeyong explain their mission. He pretends he gives a shit about becoming the episode’s ‘king’. He listens to the instructions and sees the staff set up the props and then he realizes.

The first challenge is jegichagi.

The rules are simple: The staff brings them two small confetti-themed weights. Each member, one at a time, tries to bounce the confetti off their feet. Every kick counts for one point. Whoever gets the most points wins and becomes the ‘king’.

Essentially the game is like busking a soccer ball. Yuta was a soccer play. This game is Yuta’s best party-trick.

He looks to the staff and the staff looks back. The producer nods. So yes, Yuta understands clearly, and from the way Mark turns towards him – though only glancing from the corner of his eye – he knows Mark does too.

Just in case he wasn’t sure enough: After the staff hands Doyoung and Jungwoo the yellow and green confetti, she stops in front of Yuta and offers a silver confetti. Just for him. Yuta has a feeling that this one is built differently from the other two, that it will somehow be easier to kick around.

Taeyong goes first: He scores 12. Then Doyoung plays and scores 4. Jungwoo earns 16, which puts him in the lead. Taeil gets 6. Jaehyun gets a pathetic 3 (considering how competitive he is, Yuta is sure he’s angry with himself).

And then it’s Yuta’s turn.

He steps forward and puts on an air of confidence. “I’ll show you what Jegi is _supposed_ to look like.” He knows – they all know – that this challenge was designed for Yuta to win.

Mark starts laughing. He steps forward, claps his hands around Yuta’s shoulder, “Hyung, you’re so cute!” It’s impressive, Yuta thinks. Mark is an incredible performer, he manages to sound so natural, so genuine. (Yuta wonders if his eyes sparkle; but he’s too afraid to check.)

Deep down, he knows. But even though Yuta _knows_ , he can’t suppress the happy bubble that rises up his chest and curves his lips. With Mark’s hands squeezing his arms, with Mark’s laugh in his ears, Yuta feels a swell of pride and of happiness that makes him want to show off and be impressive – the same feeling he’d get when he was eighteen, when he’d channel extra energy into his dance practice despite the exhaustion, just because he knew a certain fourteen-year-old was looking up to him.

He remembers what Taeil said: _We’ve known you for years,_ as if that explains everything. (And maybe it does.)

He points at Jungwoo. “I’m coming for your throne,” he warns, and Jungwoo raises a brow but doesn’t doubt it. And then Yuta throws the confetti up into the air.

One, two, three, four- he almost slips up there, but years of soccer practice have perfected his reflexes, so he gets to five, to six, to seven…

He gets to twenty but he’s too close to the cameras – and he’s already won anyway – so he lets it fall. The other men cheer as Yuta takes his rightful place on the throne, where he belongs.

It’s Mark’s turn. He’s a little erratic at first, spinning around to try and catch the confetti before it falls, but he gets the hang of it. Yuta knew he would because whenever Yuta’d play around, Mark would follow. Yuta taught him how and Mark is good at everything he puts his mind to.

It’s almost beautiful, in a way, how Mark’s eyes light up, how his head moves up and down with the bouncing confetti, how his smile gets so bright when he reaches thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and Yuta wonders whether Mark might actually reach him – but the sixteenth bounce lands too far away and Mark isn’t quick enough. “Ahhh!” he screams in anguish, glaring up at the ceiling like he’s blaming the heavens.

Yuta smiles fondly, feels something melt inside him.

_(But maybe it doesn’t.)_

Neither Haechan nor Johnny make it past five points, so as predicted, Yuta is the winner. He opens his arms wide, invites the applause, savours his limited screen-time. And maybe he gets too competitive sometimes, but it feels good to win. It feels good to be good at something.

Doyoung presents him with a dozen slips of pink paper and, ah, right, Yuta gets to choose a punishment. _Nice_. Yuta isn’t scared to admit his sadist streak and he can see the other members fidget nervously. He soaks up their fear like it’s fuel and dramatically grabs a paper from Doyoung’s hands. (He suspects they all read the same thing, because that’s how variety tends to work.)

“Pepero game!” he announces deeply. And he’s not sure what that means at first until Taeyong whispers, _“Pocky.”_

He sees the staff rip open a pack of pretzel sticks, each one coated on one side with chocolate, and _ahh_ , yeah, they call it ‘Pocky’ in Japan. ‘Pepero’ must be the Korean brand. He’s fairly sure he’s tried some before, actually, but Yuta still occasionally forgets what ‘NCT’ stands for; he sure as hell isn’t going to remember a brand name for pretzel sticks.

“Pick two members for the punishment.”

Ahh, right. Assuming that these rules are the same as for the Pocky game, Yuta gets to pick two members to eat the pretzel stick from either end, like that spaghetti scene from _Lady and the Tramp_ , until they either kiss or chicken out.

Yuta tries not to smile. He glances at the members, at a particular boy’s unsuspecting face… and he barely needs to think about it. “Mark and I will do it.”

It. Is. Chaos.

The members topple like dominos, the room erupts in laughter, and Mark’s legs completely forget how to function. Yuta laughs with them – but it may be more from his nerves than just humour. He watches Mark (struggle to) walk to the staff and bend down to grab the pretzel stick from an assistant. Yuta’s blood races as he waits for Mark to turn around – but of course Mark has to take a moment to hide behind his hands as if refusing to face such an unfair world. Shit, Yuta _needs_ Mark to turn around so he can see his face. He needs to know whether this was too much, whether he crossed the line with this one. But Mark can’t get mad about this, he thinks, that wouldn’t be fair because Yuta _warned_ him, he told Mark he’d purposely pull a stunt, so he ca-

Mark turns around. His face is beet red, but he’s laughing. He’s cringing, but he’s smiling. He steps towards Yuta’s throne in absolute disbelief, but not in anger.

Yuta breathes out.

It gives him the confidence he needs: He sits up straighter, raises his chin arrogantly, and deepens his voice until it sounds royal and powerful. “Come here,” he beckons, waving Mark over with the condescension of the tyrant king he is (until the next round at least). He feels happy- wait no, _relieved_ , he corrects himself, he feels _relieved_ that Mark isn’t mad.

Mark stands beside the throne with a pretzel stick between his thumb and index, with apple red cheeks and quivering pink lips, with eyes that look anywhere but at Yuta’s for a very different reason than before.

The reality hits him all at once. Because obviously Yuta realized he was picking Mark and himself for a kissing game – but he realizes suddenly that he picked himself and Mark to play a _kissing game._ Maybe that’s a bit awkward, considering their situation. But then again, Yuta is a bit sadistic and plenty adaptable; he would be lying if he says he isn’t enjoying this at least a little.

Yuta neutralizes his face until he looks dead serious. “Mark,” he calls. Mark looks up at the sound of his name; and it’s so hard to suppress a laugh when Mark’s face is so red and shy and _cute_. Yuta nearly busts but manages to compose himself and perseveres. He purses his lips, looks up to Mark with wide, innocent eyes, and promises with the upmost sincerity: “Come as close as you want. I won’t move.”

… _Aaaand_ that’s all Mark can take before he goes down again, nearly dropping the Pepero as he flails with his laughter.

Doyoung (the prude that he is) smacks Yuta’s legs in retaliation hard enough to make the older man hiss. Alright, maybe Yuta deserved that. But also, Doyoung could smack him a thousand times and this – the screentime and the laughter and Mark’s nervous smile – would still be worth it.

Yuta has been told that his smile is healing; right now he has the energy to save an entire hospital.

Mark stalls for as long as he can, but he can’t escape forever. Eventually he succumbs to his fate. He holds the pepero between his lips, braces himself on the throne’s armrest, leans forward… and promptly brings up his free hands to shield his eyes, resorting to an ‘if I can’t see it then it’s not happening’ approach.

It’s too cute, Yuta actually needs to back up for a moment so the snack won’t poke his eye out as he laughs. But only for a moment. Unlike Mark, Yuta feels no need to stall. If Mark is going to stand there, blinded by his own palm, offering him a snack between parted lips, then Yuta is going to seize the opportunity.

Yuta opens wide and takes the biggest first bite he can manage. He stares into Mark’s eyes through the tiny gaps between his fingers (though there’s no point because Mark’s eyes are squeezed shut; isn’t that overkill?). The problem with blinding himself – which Mark only realizes now – is that he can’t see how close they are. He can’t tell that Yuta swallowed a third of the stick in a single bite.

Yuta’s enthusiasm surprises even himself, but he loves teasing Mark, loves flustering the younger boy who always flusters so easily, so pretty; so it only makes sense. He can feel the stick tremble between his teeth and Yuta _loves_ it, wants to see how far Mark will go, how brave he can get.

Mark isn’t known for his bravery.

He manages an entire bite and a half before his arm brushes against Yuta’s hair; and Yuta knows as soon as he feels the pepero twitch between their lips. He recognizes the way Mark’s breath hitches, the way he freezes and smiles nervously as his fight or flight system kicks into gear.

And Mark, like the chicken he is, always, _always_ chooses flight.

So Yuta knows, maybe even before Mark knows, that the younger boy is giving up. He jerks his head up, taking the pepero with him, and spins away before Yuta can say anything.

“Ah!” Yuta points at Mark and quickly turns to staff, making absolutely certain that they know who quit – although the entire world knew it wouldn’t be Yuta. He turns back to Mark and watches the boy spin out like a Beyblade, cringing and yelling out like it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever had to do, and maybe it is. But that’s what Yuta wanted, right? Because Yuta is just being sadistic. He _wants_ Mark to cringe, he _wants_ Mark to gag, he _likes_ seeing Mark pretend to hurl. He has to repeat it to himself a few times so he’ll remember to laugh.

Yuta stands, still aggressively pointing towards Mark. “It was him!” he shouts to staff. “Mark quit first!”

“We know.” Jungwoo deadpans.

Yuta ignores him. “So?” he grins. In the background, Mark is clutching onto Haechan, who pets his back with a soothing, ‘There there, it’s okay sweetheart’. “What is Mark’s punishment? Hm?”

“There is no punishment. We’re going to do the second challenge now.”

“Oh. No?” Yuta’s smile falters. “No punishment?” His eyebrows furrow. “But that’s not fair, shouldn’t he get a punishment for giving up?” Some of the staff laughs, assuming that he’s pulling a gag. Yuta drops his arm back to his side. “Then what was the point if he could quit anytime?”

Taeyong lets out his characteristic high-pitched laugh, the kind that doubles as a warning, and tugs Yuta back by his arm. “You’re being too competitive, Yuta. Let’s move on to the next game.”

It may sound meek but everyone knows that Taeyong is more than capable of putting them in their place. So Yuta gives in. He sends an unwarranted glare towards the staff and backs away.

It’s silly, Yuta knows it’s silly. What’s with his sudden fixation on revenge? Has he always been this petty? He breathes in and holds it for four seconds, like they taught him the first time his temper became an issue. Because if his temper continues to be an issue, the higher-ups will have an issue. And that would become an even bigger issue for Yuta. So he’d better use his lungs.

He breathes out, lets out a dramatic sigh, and plays along with the jokes. Mark says he’s traumatized, Yuta says his bad breath was the only traumatizing part. And everyone laughs because it’s funny. Mark says, “Hyung, stop it!” and it’s weird, but Yuta actually misses being his _oppa_ for some reason.

Mark acted so natural throughout their stunt, their high stakes pepero game, that Yuta assumed things were okay again. That whatever was spooking Mark had passed, that they would go back to sharing whatever energy possessed them on that movie night.

Mark still laughs at every joke. He shouts out, “Hyung is so cool!” at every occasion. But when they play the next challenge, Mark stands on one side of the table and Yuta is all the way on the other end. And when Yuta walks over to take his turn, Mark steps back to give him room – a _lot_ of room.

When Yuta _isn’t_ making jokes, Mark’s smile slips. His gaze is as avoidant as it was before, even when Yuta is right in front of him.

When Yuta sits down beside him, Mark doesn’t lean up against him, doesn’t offer to play hand games, doesn’t play with Yuta’s long hair that he always claims looks so pretty. So Yuta keeps his promise and leaves him alone. He lets Mark hide behind Johnny and Jaehyun and pretends not to notice. When the shooting ends and Mark dashes out without a glance, Yuta doesn’t say a word about it. When they get to the car and Mark calls dibs on the front seat, where no one but the driver can sit beside him, Yuta continues breathing in and breathing out, holding each one for four seconds.

Because that’s what Mark wants. He wants _space_. So Yuta slouches in the back corner and grants him as much space as possible within the confines of their shared ride.

The car starts on its way home. Jungwoo says something funny and Mark laughs too loud, the way that is just so characteristically _Mark_. “Hyung is so cute!” he gushes, over and over again. Too. Loud. He giggles until it hurts to hear, until it’s all that can be heard.

Yuta clenches his jaw and pushes in his earbuds. He stares out the window. He watches every street become another street become another street, to the beat of music that blares loud enough to drown out the voices.

When a certain song starts to play, Yuta skips to the next track.

As promised, Yuta gives Mark as much distance as he could possibly want. When he sees Mark sitting at the kitchen table, Yuta brings his snack to the couch and says that the cushions feel better on his sore muscles. Jaehyun doesn’t even acknowledge him.

When Yuta ends up near Mark during their performances, he waits for the song to end. Then he walks away without ever looking in the younger boy’s direction. Mark doesn’t complain. (Why would he?)

When Yuta is doing a VLive and the fans ask about Mark, Yuta pretends not to see the questions. Instead he tells a funny story about how Jungwoo was traumatized after finding a cockroach in the kitchen (and then another in the hallway later that week, and didn’t Doyoung freak out about one last month?). Hmm, come to think of it, the Dream members said they found a cockroach too…

The story is a successful distraction, and a generous supply of SM cockroach memes surface within the next few days. (Yuta is very amused; the head supervisors, not so much.)

On the bright side, their pepero game is a smashing sensation. Mark and Yuta trend on Naver, they get covered by Dispach, a Twitter hashtag is designed in their honour.

“🤣🤣 Oh my god the way Mark gay panicked for a solid 28 seconds! #loveYUsoMARK”

“Get yourself a man who loves you the way Yuta loves Mark Lee! 💘🥺 #loveYUsoMARK”

“Lmao the way Yuta was staring at Mark’s ass tho 👀 #same”

(That last one was not quite intentional, but Yuta will neither confess nor deny.)

If Mark notices the comments, he doesn’t mention them. He doesn’t _tap, pause, tap-tap_ on Yuta’s door to laugh about the latest fan edit. Instead, Yuta overhears him giggling with Johnny over some cat sounds on his phone. When he shows Johnny a meme – _‘Right in front of my salad??’_ – Johnny doesn’t ask him to explain the joke. He laughs, because he understands Mark’s humor without needing to think twice.

And really, Yuta is glad that Mark has found someone better to share his humour with. Mark deserves better than an ~~oppa~~ hyung who doesn’t understand why Pikachu is always so surprised. Mark deserves better than what Yuta can give him.

As trends always do, the pepero game’s hype dies down within a few days and Yuta goes back to being an afterthought. Jaehyun announces he’s going to act in a new drama, and the news obscures any other comment – _as it should_ , really, Yuta is thrilled that Jaehyun is getting the opportunity to show his acting abilities.

…But, sometimes it feels as if Yuta is only worth mentioning if he’s hugging a much cuter boy in his arms. This is the only role he performs that warrants applause. Yuta doesn’t say it out loud because he knows Taeyong will get upset if he hears him sulking, so instead he stores it in a bitter place in his heart that grows with every beat of silence.

A few days pass with Yuta insisting that he’s totally fine, that he’s just feeling antisocial lately, _don’t worry about it,_ before Taeyong calls him out.

He pulls Yuta aside, eyes opened wide like he doesn’t want to miss any subtle cry for help in Yuta’s features. “Did something happen between you and Mark?” he asks, eyebrows angled at forty-five degrees.

“Ah.” Yuta shrugs. Casually. “He’s been a little awkward ever since that pepero game.” He spins his water bottle up in the air. “Maybe I pushed it too far.” The way the water swirls around inside looks cool. It’s very much more entertaining than meeting Taeyong’s worried stare.

Taeyong is silent for a moment. He mumbles, “Even before that...,” like he’s not sure whether he wants Yuta to hear. He watches his feet like he’s bracing himself.

Yuta cocks his head. He keeps a straight face, lips pursed. “Hm?” he says innocently, eyes big and round. “Did you say something?”

Taeyong looks up. They stare at each other for what seems like an eternity.

Yuta would never show it, but it’s making him nervous. He wonders whether Taeil was right, whether Taeyong has known him for too long, whether he has become too familiar with Yuta’s performances. So he doesn’t back down, he doesn’t blink, doesn’t accept defeat, and it feels like a small victory when Taeyong is the one who turns away first.

“Should I talk to him?” he asks, watching Yuta through the mirror.

The water swirls. Casually. Yuta lifts the bottle for a closer look, shaking it around and watching it flow… You know, demonstrating his priorities. Nothing to worry about here. Then he shrugs and shakes his head. “Mm, no, give him a chance to calm down. He’ll come when he’s ready.”

Taeyong doesn’t seem reassured, but he sighs and lets go. “Maybe you’re right.”

But Yuta only has so much patience.

When he walks into the dorm after his vocal lessons, Yuta has one of the upcoming album’s b-sides stuck in his head. He won’t get to sing it (he never does), but it’s pretty. Nice melody. He was impressed by the emotion Haechan conveyed in his voice, Yuta wonders if he can do the same thing.

He didn’t realize Mark was sitting on the couch nearby, hidden behind the cushions. He doesn’t realize until Mark startles from the sudden vibrato and twists around. His eyes are wide, his mouth agape, and maybe he forgot Yuta existed or something.

Yuta’s voice falters. His hands twitch awkwardly at his sides. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to say something, or… wave? Maybe? So he stays frozen. They stare at each other for one, two, three whole seconds. Then Mark wordlessly turns back to the TV.

Yuta isn’t sure what to do, so he does nothing.

He turns away and heads to his room, closes the door behind him, then flips to page 102 of his latest book. It’s a story about self-development and character growth. Yuta thinks it has a good message.

Later, Jungwoo announces that their food is here (with the same glee as winning the lottery).

Yuta is surprised that, when he walks into the kitchen, Mark doesn’t make any weird excuses to escape (like “I’ve heard that eating outside is better for your health”, or “I’m starting lent early, so I have to like, you know, fast for Easter”). Maybe Mark doesn’t have a choice, because they ordered out and it would be rude to ditch everyone.

…So maybe Yuta should embrace this. Maybe he should be satisfied with this crumb of progress, maybe Yuta should play it safe, maybe he shouldn’t be so greedy. But Yuta only has so much patience. (And maybe he’s a little petty, too.)

When he passes by to grab a wine glass for the cola (it’s Yuta’s turn to wash the dishes but he’s waiting for the others to remember – which will probably last until they realize they’ve run out of cups), he suddenly ‘loses his balance’ and bumps into someone’s chair. “Oops, sorry Mark. You okay?”

Mark doesn’t look up. “Yeah, it’s fine hyung.”

“Good to hear.” But it’s not enough.

So throughout the meal, Yuta takes every opportunity to assert himself. He goes out of his way to be as visible as possible. “Mark, can you pass me a napkin?”

Taeil notes, “You already have a napkin.”

Yuta scowls. “Taeil, I’m a messy eater. I’m taking _precautions_.”

Mark hands over his napkin. But he doesn’t say a word. _It’s not enough._

Yuta continues being as obnoxious as possible. “Mark, pass me the salt?”

Mark is too polite to say no. He grabs the shaker (which was actually closer to Jungwoo) and keeps his eyes downcast as he reaches across the table. Yuta watches him the whole time, purposely angles his wrist to touch Mark’s skin as he grabs the shaker from his hand… Mark finally succumbs to the pressure: He looks up.

Their eyes meet. They pause for a second, maybe two, until Mark lets go and hides his face.

Jungwoo suddenly catches up to the conversation and frowns. “Wait, you’re putting salt? On _kimbap?_ ”

“You’ve eaten weirder things, Jungwoo, you have no right to question me.” He’s completely right. Except Jungwoo is known to experiment with his food; Yuta is not. Taeil gives him a weird look. Jaehyun doesn’t care enough to comment. And Mark spends the rest of dinner staring down at him plate. (Also, Yuta learns that salty kimbap is… an acquired taste.)

For some reason, Mark decides he’s not hungry for dessert.

He closes his bedroom door behind him and disappears for the rest of the night. Because Mark is a _coward_. Because Mark avoids discomfort with more urgency than COVID. Why did Yuta ever think Mark would make the first move? Did Yuta really think he would be different? That he would be worth the risk? “Stupid,” Yuta mutters. He never learns.

Suddenly, “Did we run out of cups?” Jaehyun eyes the empty cupboard. For lack of a better option, he pours water into a wine glass. “Whose turn is it to do dishes this week?

Yuta groans.

Well. It’s been a week of this stupid hide-and-seek. A week of fucking ‘space’. And Yuta has run out of patience.

He doesn’t _tap, pause, tap tap_ ; no, Yuta barges into Mark’s bedroom with nothing more than a half-assed wave. “Hey.”

Mark nearly jumps out of his skin. His phone hits the floor and thank god Mark bought that special protective case because he does this way too often. “Oh, uh, um, hi hyung.” The boy’s eyes are round and wide but they don’t sparkle this time. His hands grip the bed sheets on either side of his crossed legs. He chuckles nervously, glancing everywhere but at Yuta. “What’s up, do you need something?”

Yuta tries not to snort. He keeps a straight face, pretends not to notice the tension, and lifts his hand to show his peace offering. He says nonchalantly, “I found the leftovers from last week,” and tosses the pepero packs onto Mark’s nightstand. Mark’s focus snaps to the labels. Yuta likes that. He waves Mark to one side until the boy makes room for him. Then he sits, crosses his legs like it’s no big deal, and says, “Might as well eat them before they expire, right?” Because really, _it’s no big deal._ Super casual. That’s all.

A dozen different emotions flit across Mark’s face. He eyebrows raise, then furrow, his mouth opens, frowns, grimaces, and he finally settles on suspicion. “Hold on…” He picks up one of the packets and squints at the label. “Did you steal these?”

It earns him a lopsided grin. “They would have gone to waste,” Yuta explains like it’s obvious. “I’m _helping._ ” And if there is some kind of underlying symbolism to the chocolatey pretzel sticks, that’s nothing but a coincidence. A very unsubtle, meaningful, _coincidence_ ; nothing more. Yuta pops a stick between his lips and bites with unashamed satisfaction.

Mark sighs. He’s not an idiot. “Yeah, I know,” he groans, falling back against the mattress. He struggles to find words, releasing half-vocalized syllables only to grab them right back. “I… just… I dunno.” Oh wait, that completely contradicts his previous sentence. “Or,” he stumbles, “like, I mean- I don’t- Ah, you know what I mean.”

Yeah, he does. Yuta has known Mark since he was thirteen. It’s been seven- no, _eight_ years since then, since they both grew up here together in a foreign country under foreign circumstances. After all this time, Yuta knows Mark’s tics; and Mark knows that Yuta doesn’t believe in coincidences.

The younger boy – who has grown a lot since thirteen – only has the courage to face the ceiling, like he’s praying his deity to give him a break. His fingers play with the plastic wrapper in his fist; the crinkling sounds make the pauses less deafening. “Ahh-” Mark throws up his hands in frustration then lets them drop onto the sheets. He whines, “I don’t _know_ , man.”

Yuta, half-turned at the waist, watches the way Mark’s chest rises and falls. The way he shields his eyes with the back of his hands like he hid himself from the pretzel stick last week. When Mark stays uncomfortably silent he prompts, “It’s not just about the candy.” And then he bites the pepero like a subconscious emphasis. Maybe Yuta is being too blunt about this – but Yuta’s patience isn’t where it used to be. He’s tired of beating around the bush.

Mark’s shoulder flinch off the bed, like he’s trying to sit up. “N-No, I mean-“ He pauses midway. And then he cowers. He lays back down, unable to face his problems head-on, and runs his hands through his hair. “Like… You know, I- like… ugh, I just-…” He squeezes his eyes shut, groans, and gives up. “Can we just not talk about this?”

Crunch. The cookie breaks apart between his teeth; Yuta lets that be his answer.

As much as Yuta likes to play around and tease, he has never forced Mark – won’t _ever_ force him – to do something he doesn’t want. Pressure him? Okay, maybe. But if Mark doesn’t want to, Yuta won’t force him. This is Mark’s choice. He gets to choose whether Yuta is worth the discomfort.

The ceiling refuses to tell Mark what Yuta is thinking. He’s forced to push up and meet the older man’s gaze; Whatever he sees makes Mark heave a long sigh. He hunches over with his arms crossed over his knees and cracks his neck. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “It just… got weird, I guess.”

“Did it?”

“I don’t know.” He knows he’s a broken record, an off-beat clap on loop. But, well… Mark is unfortunately as skilled with feelings as he is with words. “Maybe it wasn’t. Or maybe it was just me. I dunno.” He tears open the pepero pack, stares at the pretzel stick, then pops it between his lips. 

Yuta can get impatient sometimes – maybe more often than he’d like to admit – but he’s always patient with Mark. He leans forward to meet Mark’s level, to try to see his face. “Was it because of something I did?”

Mark says “No!” before Yuta can even finish his sentence. He twirls the pepero stick between his index and thumb, hesitates, and closes his eyes. “Or… I don’t know… Maybe? But like-…” His free hand gestures towards Yuta, though his gaze is still fixed on the pretzel. “It’s more like… All of you. As a whole.” He realizes how that sounds, how Yuta will interpret it, then rushes to add, “But not in a bad way!”

Yuta blinks, then frowns. He’s trying to untangle the strings of Mark’s thought process. “So… in a good way?”

“Yeah.” Mark is as perplexed as Yuta is by his answer. It’s clear even Mark hasn’t figured this out. “But like, I guess the- the game…” He holds up the pepero in Yuta’s direction, too embarrassed to say it by name. “The game made it, like, worse? I guess? ‘Cause then it was kind of in my face, you know?” Yuta can see the red tinge of Mark’s ear, which says enough.

“What was in your face?” Yuta asks gently. Without thinking, he presses his hand onto Mark’s back. They both freeze – Yuta is about to pull away and apologize when suddenly Mark relaxes under his touch. So Yuta stays, pets soothingly between his shoulder blades, tries to make him comfortable.

“You were in my face,” Mark mumbles. Well, yeah, Yuta thinks, they played the pepero game. Getting into each other’s face was basically the goal.

But Yuta admits that maybe his stunt was too much. He hadn’t given Mark enough warning, he pushed too much. “Sorry, Markie,” he says, and scoots in closer to hug his arm around Mark’s side. “You’re right, I went too far. I won’t…” Yuta snickers at himself, because it’s kind of a funny sentence. “I won’t get in your face anymore, okay?”

“No,” Mark says. And again, he blinks at himself like he’s surprised, like the words escape before his brain can interpret them. “It’s not… Like… It’s okay to be, you know… in my face?” He scrunches his nose and cringes. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Me neither.” There are a lot of mixed signals going on here, even for Mark Lee. And, well, if Yuta wanted Mark to risk discomfort for his sake, it’s definitely working. Lost in thought, Yuta starts to drop his arm – then he changes his mind and traces his thumb against Mark’s skin. It’s been a while since Mark has let Yuta touch him, he’s not going to give that up so easily. “Are we okay now?”

“Yeah,” Mark mumbles. “I guess so.”

Yuta happily nuzzles his cheek into Mark’s shoulder and hums. He may not understand the complexities of Mark Lee’s brain, but he’d like to continue appreciating it. He wants Mark Lee’s weird brain in his life again. He’ll even pretend to laugh at Mark’s stupid memes, if that’s what it takes.

Mark rests his head against Yuta’s white hair until Yuta lets go. He finally turns towards him, they finally look each other in the eye for the first time since they shared a pretzel stick between their lips. Yuta takes another bite of the pepero in his hand and grins. Mark shyly smiles back and shit, Yuta didn’t realize just how much he missed it.

“Life must have been pretty boring without your oppa, huh?”

Mark scrunches his nose and grimaces, but he laughs with him anyway. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s not as exciting when oppa’s not there.”

Suddenly it feels like enough. For Yuta, at least. He smiles at the stupid honorific, their inside joke that feels like something more.

But for some reason the tension doesn’t completely fade. There’s still a weird silence. So Yuta sits straight and waits.

Mark leans back, one hand bracing himself on the mattress, nibbling at the snack between his fingers, but he still seems lost in thought. So Yuta braces himself. “Why’d you pick me anyway?”

“For?” The pepero game? Or in general?

“The pepero game,” Mark answers. Yuta hears the crunch when he bites down on it.

“Ah,” Yuta says. That’s the easier of the two questions, but for some reason he finds himself stalling anyway. “I mean, I warned you before. I told you I was going to do some kind of stunt for the producers, so that after, I’d be able to give you…” _Space_ ; he doesn’t want to say it out loud. “…You know, ike you wanted.”

“Yeah.” Mark nods. “Right. So like…” He keeps nodding. “I guess it worked.”

“Yep.” Something is off. “People made a hashtag about us.” Yuta tries to ease the tension with a radiant grin. “Did you see it?”

Mark shifts, distracting himself by munching on the candy. “Yeah.” Mark saw it. _#loveYUsoMARK_. He wonders if Yuta understands the play on words.

“We were trending and everything.”

“Yeah.” The pepero has almost disappeared; he only has a stub left between his fingers. He reaches for another packet from his night table, tries not to wonder whether this is sabotaging his diet.

Yuta watches. He knows too well not to notice his little quirks, and he sighs softly. “What’s going on?”

Mark looks up with big, innocent doe-eyes. “Huh?” The plastic crinkles in his grip.

“Markie,” Yuta scolds in a low voice. He narrows his eyes at the young boy and frowns, plucking the pepero packet from his fingers and holding it up between them. “Stress-eating,” he states. Mark can’t deny it. “So?”

Mark squirms. He feels exposed, and so he folds his arms over his chest even though he knows it won’t protect him from Yuta’s intuition. “I don’t _know_ ,” he insists.

“Yeah, you’ve already said that.” Yuta shakes his head, then pokes against Marks temple. “So? What’s going through that big head of yours?” He waits. When Mark stays quiet, lost in his thoughts, Yuta gently elbows his side. “Think out loud if you have to.”

“I just…” Mark’s brows furrow. He stares at the floor. “I’m not good with, like… all of this.” He waves his hands like that’s supposed to mean something. “You know?” Somehow, Yuta does. “Like, words and stuff. And like, feelings. I don’t know.”

“Angry?” Yuta suggests, leaning into Mark’s field of vision. “Sad?”

“Confused.”

“We’ve already established that.”

Despite the tension, Mark chuckles. He looks up at Yuta’s face with a hesitant smile, eyes flitting between his features like he’s searching for a sign. “Can I… like, try something weird?”

Yuta keeps a straight face, unsure where this is going. “Uh…” He sees Mark’s smile start to falter and quickly decides, “Sure.” In all honesty, he probably wouldn’t have been able to refuse anyway. Because it’s _Mark_.

Still, Mark flushes like he wants to take it back. He immediately tucks his chin to his shoulder and avoids Yuta’s gaze, gripping at the bedsheets. “I wanna, like… try it again.”

Yuta doesn’t move. Try what? Try to explain? Try to resume their friendship? Try to ignore him for another week? “What do you mean?”

“Like…” Yuta stole the one he’d initially picked up, so Mark picks up another packet from his nightstand. He hesitates, cowers, eyes fixed on his lap, and shows Yuta the pepero label. “Because like, I freaked out the first time, so it, like…” His mouth twists like he hasn’t figured out his own logic. “It made things awkward? So like, to make things _not_ awkward, um…”

“You want to play the pepero game… to make things _less_ awkward?” Yuta waits for Mark to correct him, because clearly Yuta must be misunderstanding. But even though Mark cringes – it sounds stupid when Yuta says it like that – he doesn’t protest. Yuta’s mouth falls open. “Um…”

Mark drops his hands and laughs deprecatingly at himself. “Yeah you’re right, that’s probably super dumb,” he admits.

“It’s not dumb,” Yuta responds like a reflex. Like he does every time Mark doubts himself. Except this time, “It’s just…” it’s hard to find the words. “ _Unconventional._ ” Nice, that’s a fairly neutral way to put it. Yuta figuratively pats himself on the back for his on-the-spot Korean.

Mark still groans. He pulls his knees up and hides his face between them, giggling nervously to himself. He’s too _cute_ , Yuta thinks, as he ruffles the younger boy’s hair. “You have creative problem-solving skills, that’s a good thing, Markie.”

“Let me die right here,” Mark grumbles, then bursts out laughing when Yuta pokes his side.

“See, _that_ was a dumb thing to say,” Yuta scolds, nose scrunched in mock anger. He shoves Mark until the boy falls against the mattress, then grabs his ankle and tickles the sole of his foot. Mark thrashes wildly, giggling like a child, and he’s so _cute_. It’s impossible to resist Mark Lee when his smile looks like that, when his eyes sparkle in that way Yuta so desperately missed. Yuta is happy to see Mark be happy. He’s even happier to see Mark be happy with _him_.

Yuta plants Mark’s foot back onto the mattress, then wraps his arms around Mark’s shins and rests his chin between Mark’s knees. He smiles down at the younger boy. “You’re cute,” he says. Yuta doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.

Mark smiles back, eyes crinkling. “Thanks, oppa.” They stay like that for a while, watching each other quietly. The silence finally feels comfortable.

Yuta squeezes his hug around Mark’s legs. “Don’t avoid me again.” It’s phrased like a statement, but it’s more of a question. Or maybe a plea. But he knows it’s not a promise Mark can’t make.

“I’ll try not to,” Mark says, gaze falling guiltily. And that’s probably the best Yuta can get, because Mark always chooses flight over fight (unless it’s about Haechan). It’s the effort that counts. Yuta hums, satisfied, and nuzzles his cheek onto Mark’s kneecap (which isn’t the most comfortable, but it’s Mark, so it’s okay). With his eyes closed, he doesn’t see Mark’s face darken with insecurity. “Did you miss me, hyung?”

Yuta doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

“Really?” Yuta opens his eyes and gives him a weird look, unsure whether Mark is joking. The way Mark stares up with those big brown doe eyes suggest he’s not. “I just, I didn’t really know because, like… You seemed okay, I guess.”

Now Yuta gives him a _really_ weird look. “You thought I didn’t miss you?” he scoffs. Mark flinches at his laugh, then cocks his head like he genuinely doesn’t understand. Yuta shakes his head, baffled that Mark even questions things like this. “Mark Lee,” he says seriously, and traces patterns into Mark’s thigh. “You are, without a doubt, one of the best things that has ever happened to me.”

“Ahh-” Mark cringes, crossing his arms over his eyes like it might shield him from Yuta’s cheesy sentiments. Unfortunately, it only encourages him.

Yuta beams. “I mean it! Mark Lee, you are the sweetest-” he pouts, swats Mark’s arms away so he can pinch Mark’s cheek. “-cutest little dongsaeng the world has ever seen. Even when you’re being annoying and bratty, you’re still so cute that no one can get mad at you. You’re so _cute_. Don’t you know that?”

Mark laughs, and his blush reaches his neck. “Oii, hyung, stooop-” He tries to cover his face again but Yuta grabs his wrists and dances them above Mark’s head like a marionette.

“You’re cute, Mark Lee,” he teases. “You’re _cute_. So cuuuute!”

Mark kicks his legs and shoves Yuta off of him (“Oof!”). “See, you’re making things weird again!”

“Am I?” Yuta grins devilishly. He tries to sit straight but suddenly hears a crunch. When he raises his foot, he sees the pepero logo smiling up at him. Oh, oops. He looks up to Mark. “Don’t worry, the wrapper was still closed so it didn’t make a mess.”

“Mm?” Mark pushes himself up. “What made a mess?”

Yuta shows him the snack pack. “I stepped on it and broke it, but it didn’t make a mess or anything. So there’s nothing to clean up this time.” It wouldn’t be the first time they’d spilled food on Mark’s bed. Yuta in particular is known to be a clumsy eater – poor Mark still found popcorn under his pillow weeks after they watched Train to Busan. (“I wasn’t scared, I was just surprised. There’s a difference!”)

Mark stares at the wrapper like he’d forgotten the pepero was there. He turns to his nightstand, where there are still a few packets left, and Yuta follows his gaze. It goes quiet again.

“What?” Yuta prods. Mark looks up and immediately gets flustered by Yuta’s smirk. Yuta loves it. “You really want it that bad?”

Mark’s voice cracks, “What?”, and suddenly his curtains are way more interesting. He chuckles nervously. “Want what? Another pepero?”

Yuta reaches forward, taps the plastic against Mark’s cheek, smiling mischievously. “Markie,” he says sweetly. Referencing Mark’s earlier unconventional problem-solving, he asks, “You really want to play the pepero game with oppa that bad?”

“Oh fuc-” Mark looks like he might die. His entire body writhes like he’s trying to exorcise the embarrassment, making pitchy whines as he cringes with every nerve in his system.

And Yuta _loves_ it. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he’s getting the reactions he wants, craves. It’s impossible to resist teasing Mark when he gets so agitated like this, it’s too cute. Mark is too cute. So irresistibly cute that it makes Yuta want to push him even further. “Come on.” He slaps Mark’s thigh. “Sit up.”

“Oppaaa,” Mark cries petulantly. “Stop, this is so stupiiid!” Yet he still pushes himself onto his knees, feet crossed under his bum, like the obedient little dongsaeng that he is.

It makes Yuta want to keep pushing further. “This one’s broken,” he shakes the pepero packet in his hand, then dismisses it by flinging it aside. “Grab one of the good ones.”

For all his complaining, Mark still hands Yuta a new packet from his nightstand, simultaneously performing a staring contest with his bedsheets. (The bedsheets seem to be winning so far.) Yuta pats his head – “You’re so cute!” – and tears the wrapper down the middle.

He holds it out for Mark and smirks. “Your pick. Right or left one?”

“They’re both the same,” Mark mumbles. He plucks the left pepero out of the package and stares at the chocolate end like he’s seeing it for the first time, eyes tracing from the top of the stick to the end between his two fingers. Then he looks up and meets Yuta’s eyes.

Mark’s lips are parted, eyes big and round but not panicked, staring at him with a clarified focus. Yuta can’t tell what he’s thinking; the shift in mood throws him off-guard. When Yuta bites his lip from uncharacteristic nervousness, Mark’s eyes flicker down to watch the plump skin release from between his teeth. And then he looks back up through his long lashes, dark eyes still, and doesn’t falter when Yuta stares back. Suddenly Mark smiles mischievously, the same way he does when they compete against each other. “I won’t chicken out this time,” he bets.

It takes a moment for Yuta to recover from… whatever that was. He shakes his head and twists around, crossing his legs so he’s facing Mark head on. “I don’t believe you,” he smirks, eyes narrowing in challenge. “You’re the most cowardly person I know.”

Mark jerks back in offense. “Dude, no, Jisung exists.”

Yuta cocks his head pensively and nods along. “That’s true. Second-worst, then.”

Mark whines, lifting his chin to the ceiling. “That’s not fair! I’m not that bad, I swear Jungwoo is-“

Yuta rolls his eyes, cuts him short by slapping Mark’s thigh. “You’re on the list.”

Mark pouts but can’t deny it. “It’s because you guys don’t believe in ghosts,” he grumbles pathetically, and Yuta smiles.

He plucks the cookie from Mark’s hand and brings it to his lips, one brow raised. “Prove it, then,” he says, raising his chin cockily. The pepero dances with his movements as Yuta tilts his head side to side to make Mark chase it.

Mark lets out a frustrated grunt and shoves Yuta’s shoulder. “If you’d stop teasing,” he says with an interesting determination in his eyes, “then maybe I can.”

Yuta grins at him, his voice slightly slurred from the stick held tightly between his teeth. He leans forward, eyes narrowed daringly. “Come as close as you want,” he echoes with a nostalgic smirk, “I won’t move.”

It makes Mark cringe but he still laughs, looking up with a sparkle in his eyes. “Last time you did, though! You started eating it too, it freaked me out!” He leans in closer, gaze aimed at the chocolate end of the stick. “Don’t lie this time,” he murmurs.

“Mm, but that’s part of the challenge,” Yuta teases, and Mark glares at him. Then he bites.

It feels like they’ve been transported one week backwards, where Yuta sits in his throne with the authority of a royal. But Mark doesn’t cover his eyes this time. He fixates on the pepero as he takes another bite, and then one more, small but persistent. Yuta is too fascinated to tease. The last time they did this, Mark was shaking like in a Canadian winter, and ran away after just two bites. Now he’s up to four.

Yuta is stunned when the tips of their noses touch. Mark looks up like he didn’t notice he’d gotten so close, lips still wrapped around his tip of the cookie that has run out of chocolate. He pauses, scanning Yuta’s face with curious doe-eyes, then braces his hands on Yuta’s knees so he won’t lose his balance. His fingers curl nervously against Yuta’s skin – but he’s not shaking this time. He’s not shaking. It’s like he’s stolen Yuta’s confidence, the breath from his nose tickles Yuta’s lips.

Watching Yuta carefully with big, still eyes, Mark takes another tiny bite. Yuta doesn’t know what he looks like right now – his breath is caught somewhere between his lungs and the pepero in his mouth and he’s sure his wide eyes reflect his surprise – but Mark seems to find whatever he’s looking for. He cocks his head to one side, tilts it experimentally like he’s testing the angle.

True to his word, Yuta doesn’t move – wouldn’t be able to if he tried. He’s pinned by Mark’s grip around his lower thighs, frozen by a boldness that Yuta never sees outside of their music videos.

Slowly, Mark’s lips inch a little closer. Yuta can feel the tug on the cookie in his mouth, the pressure of their proximity. He hears the quiet crunch of another bite breaking off and then Yuta feels Mark’s nose softly brush against his cheek, feels his own eyes flutter close.

The touch has the opposite effect on Mark. The pepero jerks between Yuta’s teeth as Mark suddenly jumps backwards, which makes Yuta flinch back even more suddenly. They stare wide-eyed at each other, hearts beating loudly. Without thinking, Yuta sucks the remaining bit of pepero – there wasn’t that much left – into his mouth and crunches it.

That seems to bring Mark back to attention. “Hey,” he points up at Yuta. “Did you just-?”

It takes him a moment to realize. He gasps. “Oh shit,” Yuta cusses and shakes his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking…” They were supposed to measure the remaining piece of cookie, that’s how you win the game. (Then again, they aren’t competing with anyone, so Yuta’s not sure why it matters.)

It goes quiet again. A little tense, but not necessarily uncomfortable. He looks up and Mark is already watching, eyes a little glassy like his mind is somewhere else. And then his gaze flickers back down to Yuta’s lips, his mouth slightly ajar.

Yuta doesn’t know what to say, his brain buzzes incomprehensibly but no words come out. He can feel a crumb on his lip, and without thinking about it – Yuta didn’t think he needed to think about something like that – his tongue slips out to lick it off. But it’s like pulling a trigger.

Mark’s eyes go wide at the quick flash of pink and he whips his gaze back to Yuta’s like he’s just discovered something shocking. Yuta startles at the urgency, thinks he must have done something wrong without realizing, but- “Want more,” Mark says in a weirdly breathy voice.

Yuta’s breath catches. Brain empty. Normally Yuta is the one whose stare is so intimidating, he’s not prepared to see that intensity in Mark’s eyes, the dark brown that normally makes him melt inside but that looks so unexpectedly- ah… he can’t find the word. “You… You mean the pepero?” Yuta asks dumbly.

Mark’s focus doesn’t waver. He quietly watches Yuta lean sideways to grab the pack they’d opened, to grab the pepero on the right side, like maybe he’s not sure what he means either. He doesn’t really know what he wants, only that he wants… something. When Yuta sits back up, cheeks suspiciously pink, and pops the candy between his lips, Mark surges forward with unexpected enthusiasm.

A week ago, Mark had stalled and cowered and covered his eyes and cringed. But Mark has always been adaptable. Now he looks Yuta in the eyes when his lips close around the pepero. See, Mark adapts to every challenge the company throws at him, from 127 to Dream to U to Super M, because that’s what Mark is good at. No matter what the world throws at him, Mark _adapts_ , and he puts his all into everything he tries. He takes a generous bite from the candy, savouring the chocolate, and for once Yuta is the one who’s nervous.

It’s only when their noses bump that Mark slows down. His lashes flutter when he looks up at Yuta, and Yuta takes a deep breath. From this proximity, Mark’s eyes look so different… The irises that seem black from afar are actually dark brown up close, though his pupils are so dilated that they nearly obscure the colour. Even from this close, Mark’s eyes sparkle like the most precious of stones, a pair of shining obsidian that Yuta would pay fortunes to admire. He starts to smile, Yuta can tell because the roundness pinches in the corners until the shapes become more almond.

This time it’s Yuta who tilts his head. Unlike Mark, Yuta has never needed space, he embraces any affection his members are willing to give – but this time feels a little different. For Yuta, at least. He reminds himself that the proximity is only because of the pepero sticking out of his mouth, a bet that Mark is determined to challenge. He can feel the warmth of Mark’s skin even though they’re not touching.

Someone has to lean forward. Yuta is a statue trapped between mixed emotions, but Mark is one of the members who spends the most time in the practice rooms after dark. He’s the one who repeats the same kick over and over again, then calls Yuta over to check his angles even though they’re as perfect as they were the last ten times. Mark puts his all into everything he does. So he’s the one who leans forward, grabbing onto Yuta’s shoulders for support, and Yuta reminds himself that it’s just a game _._ Nothing serious. Just two bros casually sharing a pepero. _No big deal._ He closes his eyes.

Mark’s hands tug him a little more forward so he can grip another inch between his teeth. With another nibble, Mark’s nose brushes his cheek – but he doesn’t escape this time. He pulls Yuta a little closer and Yuta can feel his breath, warm, and it sends a shiver up his spine. _It’s a game._ Nothing more. But he feels the pepero twitch between his lips as Mark takes another small bite and Yuta realizes that, if this is a game, Mark is determined to _win_.

There’s barely any cookie left. Only two centimetres and their breathy hesitations separate one from the other. And well, Mark clearly proved him wrong, Yuta admits defeat. This is enough evidence, enough tension, enough experimentation, and Yuta’s heart beats too loud for comfort. Mark feels the muscles in his shoulder tense, realizes Yuta is about to pull back, but it’s _not enough_ , not yet-

His fingers tangle in the white strands tinged purple. The cookie breaks in half. And suddenly they’re no longer sharing a pepero, they’re sharing each other, lips against lips. Yuta’s mouth is so soft, so full and cushiony and comfortable and this whole thing feels so comfortable, and Yuta is- Yuta is _confused._

Mark’s fingers pet through his hair, and that’s not new – “feels so soft”, he’d say, braiding the length like nothing made him happier – and Mark’s chapped lips, those aren’t new either, Yuta always tells him to drink more water, but actually _feeling_ Mark’s lips, that’s… that’s new, unexpectedly new, Yuta doesn’t know if he can adapt, but he feels Mark’s mouth part and maybe it’s a reflex, or maybe it’s just natural that Yuta matches his movement.

But between the warmth of Mark’s skin, of Mark’s touch, there’s that sharp sliver that digs through Yuta’s chest – a guilt, an insecurity, that fear of ruining something precious, someone who deserves more than Yuta can give – so he gives himself three, two, one second to savour a taste he didn’t know he craved, then presses back on Mark’s chest. They’re both breathing too heavily, still close enough for the warmth to intermingle. Yuta feels Mark’s heart racing under his palm. His nails dig into the fabric, he could easily tug forward, but-

Yuta lets go. He sits up straight and watches Mark’s eyes open slowly, turn up to him with too many emotions for Yuta to decipher, brows slightly drawn together, mouth open like he thinks he should say something but can’t speak their language.

Yuta neutralizes his features, relaxes his jaw, releases the tension in his brows until he looks calm and collected and nonjudgmental. “An accident?” he asks in attempted casualty, but the sound is too thin, too airy, too desperate.

Mark’s mouth closes. His gaze flits from the doubt clouding Yuta’s eyes, to the thin bridge of his nose, to the ridge of his philtrum that leads to the prominent curve of his cupid’s bow, pauses at the lips that hide the brightest smile he has ever seen in his life, then returns to see himself reflected in Yuta’s irises. He too tries to keep his face neutral, an ability he learned from years under Yuta’s wing. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t cower. He stares Yuta down with a challenge of his own. He lets that be his answer.

And Yuta could accept his offer. Yuta could nod along and agree that it was an accident and never let Mark live it down, because it was a _joke_ , haha, no big deal. And nothing would change, but at the same time everything would change, because they knew all along that a stupid pepero game could never make things less awkward, that it really was a dumb idea. Yet Yuta was the one who brought it up again. Who reinitiated it. Who dared Mark to be brave, who asked him to risk discomfort for Yuta’s sake, who asked him, through his gestures, whether Yuta was worth being brave for.

And Mark answered. Mark, who isn’t good with words, leaned forward and proved it to him with lips that need chopstick and a courage Yuta has only seen in performances. He’s not thirteen years old anymore, he’s twenty and self-aware and decisive and he knows what he wants. _Want more_ , he’d whispered.

So in the end, Yuta doesn’t force himself to adapt.

He chooses to.

He’s the one who leans in, without a pepero stick to excuse himself, and presses softly, hesitantly. Mark tries to be as patient as Yuta has always been with him. But he can’t. He meets Yuta halfway, shifts a little closer until his crossed legs rest over Yuta’s knees and their socked feet brush against each other and there’s even less space, because Mark has become more comfortable than ever with skinship. Especially with Yuta. And it feels nice, it feels good, it feels… it feels like a lot of things.

But whispered against Mark’s lips, Yuta needs to know, “Why?”

It’s not something Mark can answer. It’s like if someone asks him why he perks to attention whenever Yuta’s four seconds of a song play in his ears. It’s like being asked what Yuta smells like, and the best he can offer is the recollection of two hands tucking him into bed, firm arms wrapped around his waist, petting through Mark’s hair like he’s someone precious, heart beating against Mark’s ear, and he doesn’t know how to describe that scent other than that it’s _Yuta._

“Oppa,” he says softly, tracing his thumb along Yuta’s cheek and admiring the way it balloons from his smile. “What actually happened was that, like…” It’s hard to explain. “Your elbow was like, in my-” he reaches forward to dig his own elbow into Yuta’s side and Yuta gasps sharply. “Like that, in my ribs.”

“That hurt.”

“Exactly!” Mark nods. He lets Yuta straighten, watches him with a straight face so Yuta can see how serious he is. “So, it hurt. So it, you know, it woke me up.”

Yuta’s not quite sure how this anecdote is relevant, but he listens. He always listens.

“And I guess, um…” Mark frowns like he’s trying to piece together his own story. “I was still tired, and like, I don’t know… I guess it still felt like a dream. You know?” Yuta doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. “And you were, you know… you were right there. Right…” he gestures with one hand into the space between their chests. “Right there, in front of me.”

Yuta’s brows tilt up. He doesn’t want to interrupt, but Mark is writing a chapter book. He’s tempted to skip a few pages, maybe peek at the epilogue.

Mark looks up, big eyes all round and innocent and trying to convey a message that his words can’t portray. “Do you know that you look really pretty when you’re sleeping?”

“Pretty?” Yuta wants to pout and say he’s too manly to be called pretty, but the rest of the sentence sinks in. “When I’m sleeping?” Mark nods. “I’ve never seen myself sleeping.”

That should have been obvious. “I’ve seen you sleeping,” Mark says. “So you can trust me.”

Yuta blinks, unsure what to say to that. So he says, “Okay.” Like he’s giving himself permission.

“And, and I was…” For the first time in a while, Mark gets flustered. He stares down at Yuta’s hand, traces a vein up his forearm. “I was still half-asleep, right? Like, still kind of in a dream, sort of.”

“We’ve established that.”

Mark looks back up. His face looks so precious and vulnerable and cute that Yuta wants to coo and hold him and pet away every worry. “I started thinking about what it would feel like to, like…” He licks his lips shyly. “To like, kiss you.” He cringes at himself and his ears take on a reddish tint. “And it was like- weird, right?”

Yuta can’t respond. His jaw is slack, attention fixed on Mark’s face, waiting for the boy to crack up and admit that it’s all just a prank, _I can’t believe you fell for it!_ But even Mark isn’t that good of a performer.

“That’s why I freaked out.” He buries his face in his hands, mortified by his confession. “I… I didn’t really know what to do about something like, something like that, ‘cause it’s like…” He bites his lip. “It’s not like that really happens, for me, not from… not that _close_. You know?” He peeks between the cracks of his fingers. “Oppa?”

Yuta reaches out without needing to think about it, pets his hair in a need to comfort him, soothe his worries away. But he’s not done.

“And then like-“ Mark whines in embarrassment. “Me being all weird made, like, made _us_ weird, and then I didn’t know what to do about it so I just didn’t do anything, and it just made things worse and…” He groans. “Oii…”

Yuta smiles. He brings Mark forward and presses a kiss against his hair. “I can never be mad at you, Markie.” He loves the way Mark sighs, the way his whole body relaxes at Yuta’s touch. Yuta chuckles and tilts Mark’s chin up to kiss his forehead, kiss the tip of his nose, kiss his lips. It’s a scenario he never dared to imagine, a future that felt too far out of his reach. Now that he’s finally had a taste, Yuta will never, ever feel too full. “Can you say it again?”

Mark looks up curiously, leans his cheek into Yuta’s palm like it was made to hold him. “Mm?”

Yuta tries and fails to hold back his grin, his cute little giggles. “What do you call me, Markie?”

The younger boy blinks. The answer clicks into place. “Oppa?”

His smile can heal every wound.

-o0o-

“Oppa!” Mark walks through the hall, holding his phone in his hand. “You’re too loud! The fans were asking me who is singing.”

Yuta stops and stares warily. “Really?”

“Yes.” Mark grins, eyes crinkling into almonds.

Yuta narrows his gaze suspiciously. “Don’t lie.”

“Whaaat?” Mark breaks into laughter. “I’m serious!” Yuta rolls his eyes and shoos him away. Mark continues to whine, “Oppa doesn’t believe me! Wow, I’m so upset!”, and he _knows_ it’ll bring a flush to Yuta’s cheeks, doesn’t hesitate to call out, “Oppa, I’ll shut the door, okay?” before he retreats back into his room.

Yuta can hear the muffled murmur of Mark’s voice carry through the living room, always too loud and pitched up in complaint. He’s thoroughly amused and considers joining him for his v-live, steps closer until his hand surrounds the doorknob, then pauses in his steps.

“Who is my oppa?” A scoff. “ _Dude_. It’s obviously Yuta.”

Yuta smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> **November 15th, 2020; 2:56am**
> 
> This was supposed to be 1k words. _1000 words._ How did that turn into _20,000?!?!_ ☠️ How did I possibly write all that in 3 weeks?! Call an exorcist, I must have been possessed (say thank you to the demon).  
> Oof, k though, my entire existence hurts right now omg. Y’all better like this thing. It’s 3am and I am thoroughly dead.
> 
> Happy very belated birthday to the one and only Yuta-senpai, hopefully he is pleased with the overflow of oppa-kink fics posted lately. Here’s one more, hope he bookmarks it.
> 
> EDIT: I've been told I should link my twitter. So, ayo, come watch me simp for Yuta 🤟: [@OMGSaysMyHeart](https://twitter.com/OMGSaysMyHeart)  
> I also got told that I should make a curious cat. I'm obedient, I guess, [so now I have a curious cat. ](https://curiouscat.qa/OMGSaysMyHeart) Ask me questions, I like 'em.
> 
> And hey, while you're here, I have a multi-chap story called [Victimized,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25277197/chapters/61282690) where Yuta is a high school bully, Mark is his favourite victim, and Yuta falls head over heels (because it's Mark Lee, how can you not?). You should stan, it helps my self-esteem. :)  
> Thanks again!


End file.
